


The 25 Days of Christmas

by bearfeathers



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Christmas, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Christmas Tree, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Get Together, Gift Giving, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Meeting the Parents, Mistletoe, Religious Content, Snowed In, Snowmen, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 26,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2706722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearfeathers/pseuds/bearfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Christmas-themed Marvel drabble for every day from December 1st - 25th!</p><p>December 25th: We Wish You a Merry Christmas (Gen, Capsicoul)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. O Holy Night (Capsicoul)

The last time Phil had attended church as a believer was when he was eight. (He’s been in them since then, of course, but squatting in a Romanian church trying to make sure your asset didn’t bleed out didn’t exactly scream  devotee.) Praying hadn’t brought his father back or helped his mother and so his eight year-old self had figured it was a lost cause to talk to someone who wasn’t listening.

Phil’s family is—was—old Irish Catholic. He’d had the fear of God driven into him from day one. He still remembers the prayers, the hymns, the creeds, all by heart. He can recite the Beatitudes at the drop of a hat if you ask. But the time for belief in gods and angels has long since passed for him. He believes in different things these days.

He glances up at the man beside him, but Steve’s eyes are closed, his head bowed and his hands clasped before him. With the soft light of the church hitting him at the angle it does, it’s no stretch of the truth to say that Steve Rogers looks like he belongs among the haloed figures etched into stained glass.

He didn’t hesitate when Steve had asked if he would join him, knowing that it’s something important to the super soldier. It amazes him, sometimes, how Steve manages to hold on to his faith after everything he’s been through. But just because Phil doesn’t believe doesn’t mean he resents the fact that Steve does. He has to admit there’s something serene about the atmosphere as they stand at the back of the crowded chapel listening attentively to the priest deliver his sermon.

They’re among the last to leave, letting the majority of the crowd filter out before them. Steve shakes the hand of the priest as they exit, thanking him for an excellent service. The priest smiles warmly and says that it was an honor to have had them both as guests. Phil offers his own respectful thanks before they step out of the warm glow of the church and into the cold, snowy night. They huddle close together as they make their way back to their apartment.

“I’m glad you agreed to go with me,” Steve comments as they walk, snow crunching underfoot.

“It’s important to you,” Phil answers, nudging him with his elbow. “Of course I agreed.”

They’d agreed to forgo a car, preferring the walk instead. The snowy night air offers a different kind of serenity than that of the church, but they complement each other nicely. Still, it’s bitterly cold out. Personally, Phil knows he’ll be much happier when they get back home and crawl into a warm bed.

“I don’t really go as often as I should,” Steve admits.

“I think if He can make an exception for anyone, it’s probably you, Steve,” Phil tells him.

Steve hums thoughtfully, staring down at their feet as they walk. He seems relaxed, in Phil’s opinion. Contented. It’s amazing what an hour of peace does to alter his appearance. For once, Steve doesn’t look like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Phil doesn’t question it when he feels the taller man’s hand take his own, their gloved fingers slotting together in a manner that has grown familiar in months past.

The windows of most of the buildings they pass are dark now, some sporting the soft glow of a candle in each window or a string of colorful lights. Children are tucked in bed at this time of night, eager to discover what Santa will leave them while they slumber. There are a few homes still lit from within, the sounds of the season slipping out through the cracks and into the night air. It’s only their second Christmas together and if it’s anything like the last, then it’s something to look forward to. Of course, Phil considers any Christmas where all of his charges are healthy and in one piece a good Christmas.

“When did you stop believing?”

The question catches him off guard. He quirks an eyebrow.

“In Santa?” he asks.

Steve’s laugh manifests as a visible cloud of steam in the air. “No, I meant in God.”

Phil tilts his head to the side, watching the sidewalk ahead of them. “When I was eight.”

“Your father,” Steve deduces.

“Among other things,” Phil responds with a nod. “You’ve got more resolve than I do.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Steve counters.

“Our situations weren’t so dissimilar. Both your parents died when you were relatively young, my father died and my mother worked so many hours that it was like sharing the house with a ghost,” Phil notes. “You continued to believe. I gave up.”

“Maybe,” Steve says with a shrug. “Maybe you just found something else to believe in.”

It’s Phil’s turn to laugh, tugging on the hand in his. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

“Does it bother you? Going to church?” Steve inquires.

“It used to,” Phil admits. “But I grew up, figured some things out for myself, got over the notion that I had any right to believe my life or the lives of the people I loved were more important than anyone else’s. I understood. I came to terms with the fact that bad things had happened in my life and bad things would continue to happen and it wasn’t the fault of any higher power. It was just life.”

“Well, I’m glad you came with me all the same,” Steve says with a quiet smile. “Even though I’m sure you would rather’ve been somewhere else. We don’t have to go next year, if you don't want to.”

“It was where you were,” Phil says, glancing up at the soldier. “I was right where I wanted to be.”

They stop at the street corner, waiting for the light to change as a few wayward cars roll past. Distracted by the slow moving traffic, Phil is caught off guard when Steve herds him towards the lamppost, gripping his jacket and kissing him with lips as cold as his own. As the slow falling snow gathers on their shoulders and the light at the crosswalk changes enough for them to have crossed several times over, Phil figures that he may not be religious, but this could be a Christmas tradition he could get used to.


	2. O Christmas Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team is going to see to it that Skye is imbued with the Christmas spirit. Whether she likes it or not.

“What is _that_?” Skye asks as Phil and Mack do their best to shuffle down the hall beneath their heavy load.

“It’s a tree,” Phil says as they pass. “You know, those big green things outside—“

“You’re hilarious,” Skye interrupts flatly. “I mean what is it doing _in here_?”

“I got to thinking this place could use a little festive touch,” Mack explains. “The Boss agreed.”

“Mack pointed out that decorating a tree could be a fun teambuilding exercise,” Phil says, working with Mack to set the tree down as gently as they can. “Besides which, you’ve all been working yourselves hard and I thought this might be a nice way to relax.”

“Right. Decorating. Relaxing,” Skye says, nodding to herself as they brush any excess snow from the branches.

“You don’t sound like you agree,” Mack says, clapping the snow off Phil’s back and nearly knocking the director over in the process.

“I dunno, it’s just not something I ever really did,” Skye says with a shrug. “I mean, I get it, it’s something you do with family and most people grew up looking forward to it every year. I didn’t. So… I dunno it just doesn’t appeal to me the same way, I guess.”

“We’ll see about that,” Phil says resolutely, taking Mack’s coat.

Skye arches an eyebrow as the two retreat down the hall. “Is Christmas joy supposed to sound threatening? Because that sounded threatening.”

The fact that neither of them answers does little to put her at ease.

* * *

It’s not that Skye has anything against Christmas, it’s just—okay maybe she has a _little_ something against Christmas. But no more so than any other holiday that has to do with family and togetherness. It’s just that growing up without those things can make you a little bitter come time for the holidays. For her, it had always been a reminder of the one thing she wanted most and seemingly couldn’t have. So she was having a little trouble getting into the spirit of things, which Phil wouldn’t seem to take lying down.

“I’m no expert, but isn’t this a little much for one tree?” Skye asks, looking at the multitude of boxes around them.

“Well, we couldn’t decide just what to decorate the tree with,” Jemma informs her helpfully. “We all have our own favorites and instead of choosing just one, we thought we could pull a little from each.”

“Won’t that make it look a little… weird?” Skye asks, looking at the seemingly clashing themes.

“Take a look at the people decorating it,” Lance supplies with a snort.

“Fair point,” Skye admits.

“The tree’s not going to decorate itself, people,” Phil says, shooing them towards the center of the room.

Skye isn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t this. She didn’t expect to find herself humming along to the old records that used to belong to Phil’s father or laughing until she cried at Phil’s Bing Crosby impersonation. She hadn’t expected Melinda to talk so much about her mother’s hand-blown glass ornaments, sharing a story for nearly every ornament she had. She hadn’t expected to be asked to judge whether Fitz’s Victorian Tin Tinsel or Jemma’s Crystal Icicles made the tree look better. She hadn’t expected Bobbi and Lance to use most of the popcorn in a war against the Koenig brothers before any of it could be threaded. She hadn’t expected Mack’s homemade Christmas lights to blink out their names.

She supposes she should have, though. Because this year she has what she never did all the years before: a family. By the end of it, she finds herself smiling at their disaster of a Christmas tree and nodding in approval. It’s not the most picturesque tree there ever was—maybe it’s a little crooked and the colors don’t all match and there are more ornaments on one side than another—but it’s theirs.

“You know, I’d say that’s a job well done,” Skye admits as Billy brings them all hot cocoa.

“Almost,” Phil says. He nods towards Trip. “Ready?”

“Like I haven’t been waiting all night; saved the best for last,” Trip says with a grin. He reaches behind him for a box that’s smaller than the rest. When he removes the lid, they can all see the bright gold star lying nestled on a velvet pillow. “Granddad’s stuff isn’t the only thing my mom’s sentimental about. This one was my grandma’s. It hasn’t seen the top of a tree in a few years, so I figured we’d be putting it to better use here.”

“So why don’t you let Mack and Trip help you get it up to the top, Skye?” Phil says.

“Who, me? Shouldn’t Trip? I mean, it’s his grandmother’s—“

“I’ve put this star at the top of my fair share of trees,” Trip interrupts with a smile as he leans over to press a kiss to her cheek. “Besides, holding stars is what our sky’s for, isn’t it?”

“That doesn’t sound as clever as you think it does,” Skye informs him, even as she feels her eyes welling up at the sentiment.

“I know you still think it’s cute,” Trip says with a wink. “Now come on, let’s get this star where it belongs.”

Skye winds up laughing herself to tears as Mack and Trip lift her high enough to place the star atop their tree, pretending to drop her several times before the ornament is finally fixed on top. As they sit around their creation, sipping hot cocoa and reminiscing fondly about Christmases past and eagerly anticipating those yet ahead of them, she remembers all the years she’d spent wishing for a family to spend Christmas with. Looking at the smiling faces around her, she knows that, like their tree, it may not be the most conventional, but she’s certainly gotten her wish.


	3. I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus (Capsicoul + Skye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Steve get an unexpected visitor while placing presents beneath the tree. (Capsicoul Dads!AU with Kid!Skye.)

Never let it be said that Phil Coulson is a man who does things by halves. Squatting beneath the tree decked out from head to toe in full Santa Claus attire and strategically laying out each brightly wrapped gift may seem over the top, but he’s not taking any chances.

“Make sure you eat these cookies,” Steve whispers, coming up behind him.

Phil straightens, the last of the presents in place, and turns to look his husband in the eye. “Your metabolism blows mine out of the water and I’ll be eating plenty of junk tomorrow. You eat the cookies, I’ll eat the carrots she left for the reindeer.”

“Phil, I’m not eating a plate full of cookies by myself,” Steve says flatly.

“Well, if you’re going to twist my arm, I guess I’ve got no choice,” Phil says, plucking one off the plate.

Skye was certainly a creative little girl, Phil thought to himself. No two of their homemade cookies looked alike and yet each and every one of them had a little flair to them that could only have come from their daughter. He and Steve had talked about children, but had never considered it anything more than a pleasant daydream until Skye had entered their lives like a little whirlwind and suddenly that daydream was anything but.

Phil doesn’t protest as Steve sits back on the sofa and pulls Phil onto his lap, all while keeping the plate of cookies perfectly level. The two fathers admire their holiday handiwork as they quietly munch on Skye’s treats. It’s cozy and quiet, the soft glow of the Christmas tree the only source of light in the room.

“You know, most fathers wouldn’t go through the trouble of dressing up like Santa in case their kid wakes up and sees them,” Steve points out, his tone warm.

“I just want Christmas to be something special,” Phil says, trying to brush crumbs from his fake beard. “She’s not going to be a kid forever and I want to make this last.”

“I think she’d be the first to tell you that presents and a Santa suit aren’t what make it special,” Steve says fondly before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “But you certainly know how to do Christmas.”

“Of course I do,” Phil says, some amusement in his voice. “I’m Santa Claus.”

“Mmhmm. So tell me, which list am I on?” Steve asks with a grin.

“I think _you’re_ supposed to be sitting on _my_ lap for that, first of all,” Phil replies. “Secondly, I hardly think I have to tell you that you’re on the Good List. Although, something tells me you’re feeling a little naughty tonight.”

“Can’t put anything past you, can I, Santa?” Steve says.

The soldier tugs his white beard down just enough to plant a kiss on his lips. The plate of cookies is set aside soon enough and forgotten as Steve had his hands full with Phil in his lap. It’s a little ridiculous, Phil thinks, making out on the sofa like two horny teenagers all while he rocks the Kris Kringle look. But Steve doesn’t seem to be complaining and Phil isn’t about to stop, so he supposes they can overlook those factors. Minutes pass before Steve pulls away, looking up at Phil suggestively as he tugs on the thick black belt around his middle.

“What do you say we head on upstairs and you let me unwrap my present?” Steve asks.

Phil is about to say that he likes that idea, he likes it very much, when a little voice interrupts their private time.

“Stop!”

Phil thanks small mercies that his back is to the staircase, giving him just enough time to hurriedly shove his beard back in place before whipping around in surprise. Skye is standing at the foot of the stairs, looking terribly formidable in her pink footie pajamas and wearing a thunderous frown.

“I know your secret,” Skye says, tears welling up in her eyes.

Well, so much for keeping up her belief in Santa, Phil thinks dismally.

“Skye, sweetie—“ Steve tries.

“No! How could you?” Skye demands, stamping her foot angrily. “How could you cheat on Daddy with Santa?”

The two men stand dumbstruck at the question. On one hand, Phil feels an overwhelming sense of relief that they hadn’t inadvertently revealed that Santa wasn’t real just because they felt like fooling around a little. On the other hand, he wonders how in the hell he’s supposed to explain this.

“Oh, no, that’s not it at all, Skye,” Phil says, throwing his voice. He points at Steve. “You see, this isn’t your Dad.”

Skye narrows her eyes. “Of course he is. I’m not dumb, Santa.”

“Of course you’re not. You’re one of the cleverest little girls I know,” Phil says, kneeling down to her level. “Which is why I know that you know you’re not supposed to see me.”

“Well,” Skye says, shifting from foot to foot. “…yeah, I guess. But what does that have to do with it?”

“This isn’t your Dad, this is Mrs. Claus,” Phil says. “You see, I could hear you tiptoeing down the stairs, but we didn’t have enough time to make it to the chimney. So, I used a little Christmas magic to transform Mrs. Clause so she looked like your Dad. I didn’t have a chance to make sure I looked like your Daddy; you’re just too quick and too clever.”

Skye listens intently to his explanation, her expression remaining dubious throughout. “Then where are my Dads?”

“In bed of course,” Phil replies. “They know they’re not supposed to see me. Those are the rules.”

Skye seems to give it some more thought before finally giving in. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Mrs. Claus.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” Steve says with a smile. “Now, what do you say we get you back to bed, hm?”

“Can I have a glass of water first?” Skye asks.

And so the three of them tiptoe off to the kitchen where Skye has her glass of water and asks how they liked the cookies as well as a dozen other questions as she tries to keep from nodding off. Eventually, they remind her that they have other children’s houses to visit before the night’s over and she reluctantly allows Phil to pick her up and carry her to bed. As they enter her room, she wraps her arms tighter around Phil’s neck.

“You smell just like my Daddy,” she murmurs sleepily.

“Oh ho ho, you don’t say?” Phil chuckles nervously.

“Yeah, ‘cept you got a great big squishy belly,” Skye mumbles as he tucks her in. “And he’s only got a littler squishy belly.”

Behind him, Phil hears Steve choke back a laugh and considers withholding the soldier’s present for the night.

“Well, go on to sleep now,” Phil says.

“Santa?”

“Mm?”

“I think it’s real nice that you still bring me presents,” Skye says, “even after you already gave me my Dads. And I’m glad you liked your cookies.”

“And I’m glad we could give you what you wanted,” Phil says, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight Skye.”

“Goodnight, Skye,” Steve says, mirroring the action.

“G’night,” Skye says with a quiet yawn.

They hardly make it to the door before she’s out like a light. Silently, they creep down the hallway towards their own bedroom and shut the door behind them before blowing out a collective sigh of relief at their close call. Steve helps Phil out of his costume and together they pack it as far back in the closet as they can manage before wearily climbing into bed. At this point, knowing they’ll be woken in a few hours to open presents, the only thing either of them is interested in is sleep.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to listen to “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” the same way ever again,” Steve admits.

“That makes two of us,” Phil answers. He pauses before adding, “You still want me to wear the suit tomorrow night though, right?”

“As long as we keep the door locked. I don’t think you’d be able to explain that one.”


	4. Oh the Weather Outside is Frightful (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A blizzard leaves Melinda, Phil, Victoria, John and Felix stranded in a mountain cabin for the holidays. The best way to pass the time? Ingest copious amounts of alcohol and open presents, of course.

“Remind me why we thought this would be a good way to spend Christmas break?” Felix asks through gritted teeth.

“Mostly because there wasn’t supposed to be a blizzard,” John answers as they gently lower him to the sofa. “Quit your squirimin’, will ya?”

“My squirming wouldn’t be an issue if—ah, _fuck_!”

“I told you, man.”

“ _John_ —“

“Alright, alright,” Phil intervenes. “John, go to the back room and get the first aid kit, please.”

Melinda comes up from behind where Phil’s standing and watches Felix as he lies tense and rigid on the sofa. They’d made a decision to come up to the mountain to the old cabin that used to belong to Phil’s grandfather for their holiday break from Academy. It had sounded like a good way to spend a few days—skiing, hiking, drinking hot cocoa—and it had been, until this. Thinking he was being funny, John decided to start a snowball fight. He just didn’t tell anyone. So when his hurled snowball hit Felix smack dab in the nose, the gangly agent had slipped and tumbled down the slope, earning himself a broken leg by the time he reached the bottom.

So, the four of them had loaded him onto one of the sleds and carried him back to the cabin. Which was when the blizzard had seemingly come out of nowhere. So now they’re stuck in the cabin until it clears and if she has to deal with John and Felix sniping at each other the entire time, she doesn’t think she’ll be taking Phil up on any more getaway plans.

“We need to take his boots and pants off to make sure it’s a clean break. And to set the bone,” Victoria advises.

“I’m not taking my pants off,” Felix says, his voice tight.

Victoria rolls her eyes. “Relax, you haven’t got anything under there that I care about anyway.”

“That’s beside the point,” Felix says moodily.

“The girls will leave the room while John and I help you out and then you’ll have a blanket over you before they come back in,” Phil says peaceably. “We need to inspect the break, Felix.”

Melinda watches Felix consider the suggestion before reluctantly nodding his head. Frankly, she doesn’t exactly blame him for being grumpy—well, grumpier than usual—given how the day’s gone for him, but it’s not exactly helping his situation any. When John returns with the first aid kit, she and Victoria slink out of the room and head towards the kitchen.

“Well, I need a drink,” Victoria announces to no one in particular.

“Hot chocolate with rum and Goldschlager?” Melinda suggests, already pulling the necessary ingredients from the cupboards.

“I like the way you think Melinda May,” Victoria says.

They can hear the commotion from the boys in the next room and Melinda guesses they must be setting the break. There’s a great deal of cussing and the sound of Phil trying to talk over his two friends and Melinda decides she’ll just focus on hot chocolate because the sooner they get some alcohol in them, the better.

* * *

“Merry Christmas!” John says, raising his glass.

“Is it?” Phil asks, raising his head.

“Midnight, so yes,” Melinda answers, sipping from her mug.

“Can we do presents?” John asks. “Actually, you know what? We’re doing presents. I can’t wait any longer.”

They watch their fellow agent drunkenly stumble towards the back room to retrieve his gifts for them knowing that there’s little point in attempting to stop him. They gradually do the same until between the five of them, a large pile of gifts has been gathered. Victoria takes it upon herself to separate them into their own piles and they get to work unwrapping their haul in the way that those who have consumed far too much alcohol only can: very badly with too much talking.

“Mum wants you all over for New Year’s,” Phil announces, having great difficulty with the ribbon around the small box he’s holding.

“Assuming we survive,” John says ominously.

“Shut it,” Felix says, smacking the other man over the head with one of his gifts. “Please let your gift to me be a roll of ducktape.”

“Ooh, kinky,” John says, wagging his eyebrows as Victoria snorts into her mug. “Felix the Cat’s got a little bite in him, huh?”

“Vic. Help,” Felix sighs.

“I’ll just refill this,” Victoria says, grabbing his empty mug.

“You’re a good person,” Felix tells her.

“No, but seriously, mum wants you all over,” Phil repeats, still tugging at the ribbon. “She says it’s be nice to see the house full again and Melinda what’d you wrap this with it’s like a… like a portable Fort Knox.”

“Tell your mother we’d be glad to come,” Melinda says with a smirk as she pulls the box from his hands and easily untying the ribbon. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen her.”

“Is she making her cookies? You know, the chocolate ones that she melts the Andes mints on top of?” John asks, grinning from ear to ear. “Those are, without a doubt, _the_ best cookies.”

“Just as long as she doesn’t try making that salmon loaf again,” Phil says with a shudder. “There are some things that shouldn’t be loafed and salmon is one of—“

Melinda waits patiently as Phil opens the box she’d handed back to him. Some of it can definitely be blamed on the alcohol, but she’s fairly certain Phil’s just too struck dumb to speak. The rest of them are looking on with curious eyes and she doesn’t blame them; she hadn’t told any of them what her gift to Phil would be.

“This was my father’s watch,” Phil says, lifting it gently from the box.

“I spoke to your mother. She agreed to let me take it to be refurbished and resized so it would fit you,” Melinda explains. “She thought it was a good idea.”

Phil doesn’t respond. Melinda knows that Phil had adored his father and that losing him at such a young age had crushed him. She also knows how much Phil tries to be like his father and so this had seemed, to her, to be the logical choice in a gift. Instead of saying anything, he leans over and pulls her into one of the tightest hugs she’s ever been in. Returning the embrace, she pats his back.

“Merry Christmas, Phil.”

He mumbles something into her shoulder that sounds like he’s wishing her the same, but she can’t be sure.

“Well, shit,” John says, hot cocoa sloshing in his mug as he waves his hands emphatically. “How’re Captain America pajamas supposed to compete with that?”

Phil bolts upright, eyes still wet, and says, “You got me Captain America pajamas?”

“Hell yes I did. It’s a onesie. With footies and a butt flap and everything,” John declares.

“I’m changing into them,” Phil says, standing unsteadily. “Right now.”

“Nerds,” Victoria says fondly.

“Blackmail material is the greatest Christmas gift of all,” Felix says, reaching for his camera.

“Is it still blackmail if he’s proud to be wearing them?” Victoria asks.

“We’ll see how proud he is when he sobers up,” Felix answers.

The rest of the presents are unwrapped and they manage to limp into the wee hours of the morning before passing out. When Melinda wakes, the scene looks reminiscent of her childhood with brightly colored paper scattered throughout the room and all of them asleep with their new “toys.” Phil doesn’t wake when she shifts closer to him, but as she rests her head on his chest, his arm does curl around her, hugging her closer to him. In the faint light of the morning, curled up beside a dying fire and surrounded by her friends as the snow continues to fall, Melinda can’t think of any way she’d rather spend the holiday.


	5. Santa Can't Bring Me What I Need (Skye/FOC, Capsicoul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye gets an unexpected gift before Christmas even arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andy is my OC. You can find her in my other story "Call and Answer."

Skye is still getting used to family Christmases. She throws herself into the holiday with a childlike enthusiasm, but some part of her always remains reserved and uncertain. After most of her life had been spent from the outside looking in on a time for families and friends to be together, she still has trouble believing that she’s actually a part of it now. It’s strange, in some ways, having a family to come home to. Of course, they’re by no means a conventional family, but there’s a level of domesticity that they have which is foreign to her. Home cooked meals and phone calls to check on you and family game nights; they’re things that are hers now.

“I still don’t understand why you wanted to wait outside.”

Among other things, she thinks as Andy Coulson comes hustling towards her.

“I like it outside,” Skye answers as she’s handed her hot chocolate. “Besides, it’s crowded as hell in there and I didn’t feel like wading through a mob of grumpy Christmas shoppers.”

“So you sent me in as the sacrificial lamb? Thanks,” Andy grouses, wrapping her hands tightly around her own cup.

“Hey, you’re the one who needed something hot to drink,” Skye says, nudging the shorter woman.

“Because it’s _freezing_ out here,” Andy says, shivering and huddling further into her scarf.

“Aw, is my little super soldier feeling a little chilly?” Skye teases, kissing her on the cheek. “Poor Bambi.”

“Get out of here,” Andy says, shooing her away with a laugh.

They start walking again—because as much as Skye teases, her toes were starting to go numb standing there—and Andy’s hand finds hers. She grins as she sips from her cup, their fingers slotting together in a well-practiced motion. It’s not a relationship she ever expected to have, but she finds the best sorts of things often come unexpectedly; as well as sometimes arrive in small packages.

The fact that they can do something this simple, just walk down the street and do their Christmas shopping, is the reward reaped after years of fighting to rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D., to win the war against HYDRA. That war is still not yet won, and perhaps never will be, but they’ve turned the tides in their favor. They aren’t the ragtag team they were a few years ago. They’ve earned back their place in the world as its protectors.

Her thoughts are broken up by the chime of a cell phone ringing and Andy’s hand pulling away from her to answer. Skye’s fairly certain who’s calling and fairly certain of the reaction it’ll draw from her girlfriend, and she doesn’t even bother to hide her grin as they walk on.

“Hi, Dad,” the shorter woman says. “Yeah, we’re just finishing up some Christmas shopping. No, I haven’t yet. No! She’s standing _right here_. Well, be patient. Yes, I’m going to. Yes, we will. Yes, we—Dad, come on we’ll be home in under an hour, just be patient. Isn’t Steve there with you? Well, I’m sure you can find something to keep yourselves occupied. That’s _exactly_ what I’m implying. I’ll talk to you soon. _Goodbye, Dad.”_

Skye laughs outright as Andy groans in annoyance and shoves her cell phone back in her pocket.

“You’d think we hadn’t talked in weeks,” she complains.

“Well he was clearly excited over something,” Skye points out. “What was it?”

“Just… something we’ve been talking about,” Andy says evasively.

“Alright spill.”

“Not now, it’ll ruin it.”

“Spill it or I pick you up and carry you.”

“Don’t you _dare._ ”

“Careful your drink doesn’t spill.”

“Skye, no. Don’t. Get away from me, oh my god, _no.”_

The smaller agent nearly shrieks as Skye comes at her like a linebacker, hoisting her over her shoulder like the catch of the day. It’s not difficult to do, considering that at five feet tall and barely tipping one hundred pounds on the scale, Andy isn’t the most intimidating of specimens. Thanks to HYDRA and Project Centipede, Skye knows the younger Coulson could pick her up and toss her clear across the room if she wanted, but the fact that she never would means Skye gets to pull stunts like these.

“Okay, okay, uncle, I give, put me down!” Andy says, squirming in her grasp.

Skye complies, grinning as Andy’s freckled face flushes and embarrassed pink despite the wintry weather. She watches as her girlfriend takes her time straightening her coat and her hat, clearly trying to buy time, before she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small red box wrapped in a white ribbon.

“I know Christmas isn’t for another two weeks but Dad and I have been doing some talking and, well, here,” Andy says, practically shoving the box into her hands.

“Seriously? You guys couldn’t wait another two weeks?” Skye asks with a laugh, tugging at the ribbon all the same.

“Well, we have another gift for you. A real gift. This one’s just something else,” Andy says.

Skye pulls the lid off the box and peers inside. She’s not sure what she expected to find, but it wasn’t what she’s looking at: namely a small, plain white business card with the name ‘Coulson’ written neatly in the center.

“What’s this?” she asks.

“It’s, uh… I know you’ve been considering picking out a last name for yourself and like I said, Dad and I have been doing some talking. A lot of talking. What you mean to him and what you mean to me… you’re part of the family,” Andy explains, shifting from foot to foot. She rubs the back of her neck uncertainly. “I mean, we’re not expecting you to take our last name, you can choose whatever you like, but we thought that… Well, if you want it, it’s—“

Skye catches her of guard, throwing her arms around her girlfriend and kissing her soundly. Andy is startled enough that she drops what’s left of her latte, her arms flailing in surprise before she eases into the kiss, her arms slowly looping around the hacker’s waist. There are people staring at them, Skye knows, but she decides they can go ahead and stare if they like. She gradually pulls away for air, still holding the other woman close.

“You guys really want me to take your name?” she asks.

“Not that we want you to take it, so much as it’s yours if you want it. You know you’re like a daughter to my Dad and to me you’re… someone I’d like to share a name with,” Andy says.

“I think you’re someone I’d like to share a name with, too,” Skye says with a slow smile. “Now let’s get home before AC has a heart attack.”

“Maybe give it a half-hour. You know, with Steve…”

“Ew. Too much information.”

“Welcome to the family.”


	6. Kiss Him Once For Me (FitzMack)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems like Mack has received a kiss from everyone _but_ Fitz today.

“Okay, I can’t take this anymore,” Skye says throwing her hands up in the air.

“I still think it’s wrong to force them,” Jemma says, sipping her tea in a manner that’s only missing a subtitle of ‘But that’s none of my business.’

“We’re not forcing them! We’re supplying the opportunity,” Skye corrects her.

“We noticed. You’ve ‘supplied the opportunity’ in every doorway in the house,” Phil says, pouring himself a mug of coffee. “Do you know how many of my agents I’ve had to kiss?”

“And somehow— _somehow_ —Mack and Fitz have managed to avoid being under the mistletoe at the same time,” Skye says, sitting in the chair nearest her in a huff. “There’s got to be a solution to this.”

“You could let them move at their own pace,” Jemma says innocently.

“You’re not helping,” Skye informs her.

“We could all kiss Mack _for_ Fitz,” Phil suggests.

The two young women stare at him incredulously. Phil shrugs as he stirs cream into his coffee.

“What? I like kissing,” he says.

“Let’s do it,” Skye says, pounding her fist against the arm of the chair resolutely.

“Oh, no. You’re not roping me into any more of your bad girl shenanigans,” Jemma declares, rising from her seat. “If you want to do this, you two will have to do it on your own.”

Skye and Phil make eye contact from across the room. The moment Jemma sees it, she knows she’s in trouble; nothing good can come from them sharing a look like that. She can only hope Mack and Fitz make it out of this debacle in one piece.

* * *

Mack has had an interesting day. The fact that someone had strung mistletoe up everywhere is one thing, but what’s been happening when he’s beneath it, well, that’s been a little odd. It seems he’s met just about every member of the team under the mistletoe today. It’s not that he has a problem with that—kisses are nice, after all—it’s just that it hasn’t been just a kiss. No, it had been a kiss plus a declaration that it was “From Fitz.” Yet, out of all of them the engineer is the only one he hasn’t seen today.

He wanders through the halls in search of the Scotsman, doing his best to avoid meeting anyone in any doorways. It’s not an easy task. By the time he finally finds Fitz, he swears he’s had nearly enough kisses to last him a lifetime. Well, from his co-workers at least.

“Turbo,” he says as he walks into the room, “I think you and I need to have a chat.”

Fitz turns to look at him, blinking in confusion and looking uncertainly from side to side. “We do?”

“Yeah. We do,” Mack declares. “You know, if you got something to say, you can say it to me directly, right?”

“…yes?” Fitz answers. “I mean, yes.”

“Great. So would you mind explaining to me why I’ve been kisses from everyone that are supposedly being forwarded to me from you?” Mack asks.

Fitz stares blankly back at him, looking like he’s blown a fuse while trying to process the question. It’s then that Mack realizes it’s not because Fitz has been caught but because Fitz clearly has no idea what he’s talking about. For a moment, he sees red. The idea that the rest of the team had been stringing him along like that isn’t the kind of prank he finds funny. Especially not when Lance and Bobbi know very well how he feels about their resident engineer.

“I think it’s a… I think they were trying to, ehm… to get us…” Fitz says, his face lighting up in an aha moment as he snaps his fingers to get the phrasing he wants.

“They were trying to get us together?” Mack guesses.

“Yes! That. Yes,” Fitz says.

Well, now. That certainly makes a lot more sense. He doesn’t entirely approve of the method, but it’s clever, he’ll give them back. Still, there’s the matter of the wide-eyed, pink-cheeked engineer staring up at him to consider. He knows how he feels about it, but what about Fitz? He’d been pretty hung up on Jemma, after all. They’ve smoothed that out, of course, but that doesn’t mean Fitz is coming into this situation from the same standing point that he is.

“So you didn’t put them up to it,” Mack says.

“No, I wouldn’t… I mean, if I was going to tell you, I wouldn’t do it like that,” Fitz says. “That’s just… weird, isn’t it?”

“Not as weird as finding out the Director is a pretty damn good kisser,” Mack says.

“No. I don’t want to know that. Take it back,” Fitz says.

“Too late. It’s in your head,” Mack says, giving him a playful noogie.

Fitz gives him a shy smile when he’s released and Mack leans against the counter to watch him work. He’s come a long way from when they first met. By no means is he back to 100%, but he’s so much better than when Mack first met him. All he knows is his Turbo, but he thinks he’s starting to see what the others mean about the old Fitz. Frankly, this way or that, Mack couldn’t care less. As long as Fitz is comfortable with himself, then Mack doesn’t mind if he’s like his old self or if he’s grown into a new person. All he knows is he likes what he has.

“So, Turbo,” he says, with his arms folded over his chest. “You said if you were going to tell me, you wouldn’t do it like that. How exactly would you do it, then? If you were going to tell me, that is.”

Fitz fiddles with the computer parts in his hands before sneaking a glance at the doorway.

“I suppose I’d catch you in the doorway myself,” he says. “Maybe bring a step ladder.”

“I think I’m a nice enough guy to bend down so you could reach,” Mack says. He leans in a few inches. “Like this?”

“No, you’d still be too far away,” Fitz says shaking his head.

“Here?”

“A little closer.”

“How about here?”

“Maybe just a little more.”

“Good?”

With a blush creeping across his face, Fitz stands on tiptoe and presses a quick, hesitant kiss to Mack’s lips.

“Yes. Good,” he declares.

With a grin, Mack leans in, pulling him into a kiss that’s decidedly more intimate than the first and leaving Fitz with comically round eyes and red cheeks when he draws back. The engineer clears his throat, blinking rapidly and looking up at Mack longingly like he wishes he hadn’t stopped.

“Better. Yes. That one, I like that one better,” he amends.

“Now that we’ve had a test run,” Mack says, nodding towards the doorway, “wanna make sure we don’t waste that mistletoe?”

“It would be a shame,” Fitz agrees. “You know, maybe we should get all the doorways. To make sure it’s not wasted. Because someone went through all that trouble, it only makes sense, I think.”

“I like the way you think,” Mack smirks, tugging him towards the doorway.


	7. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas (Steve & Phil)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil is determined to make sure Steve doesn't spend Christmas alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is from the [Wizarding!AU RP](http://www.saleminstituteforthegifted.tumblr.com/) that I've written for before. There are still plenty of spots open, so if you're even a little bit interested, come check it out!

Christmas has always been one of Phil’s favorite holidays, but this year, he almost dreads its arrival. Not for himself, but for Steve. It will be his fellow Proctor’s first since his mother had passed and Phil knows that the first is always the hardest. The students without any family to return to remain at the Salem Witches Institute for the break and while Phil knows the school celebrates the holiday with no shortage of festivities, he hates the idea of leaving his friend behind.

Not to mention, as much as Steve tries to hide it, Phil can see the way he seems to grow more and more somber as Christmas approaches. He’s not sure if his offer will be accepted, but Phil figures it’s better to ask than not.

“Can I ask you something?” Phil asks as they walk together through the snow on the way to Astronomy.

“Sure,” Steve says, sniffling against the cold wind.

“I was wondering if you would maybe like to spend Christmas with me. I mean at my house,” Phil says. “It’ll be just me and my mum.”

Steve holds his gaze for a moment before looking away, lowering his gaze to the snow that they’re currently shuffling through. Phil feels a spike of panic with the lack of response and, worried he’s upset the taller boy, he does the only thing he can think to do: he runs his mouth.

“Of course, you don’t have to if you don’t want. I’m not saying I expect you to. If you’d rather stay here, that’s fine. Whatever you prefer. I just wanted to offer because, well, mum insisted and I thought—“

“I’d like that.”

Phil stops himself short at the proclamation. Steve meets his gaze again, and although there’s sadness in his eyes, the small smile on his face is genuine.

“You would?” Phil asks.

“Yeah. I mean, if it’s alright,” Steve says.

“More than,” Phil assures him. “We’d be glad to have you.”

* * *

Mrs. Coulson is the sort of woman who is a mother to all; whether you’ve already got a mother of your own or not, once she considers you one of hers, there’s no changing her mind. That being said, it’s been interesting for Phil to watch her fuss over Steve these past few days. Interesting mostly because Steve doesn’t seem to mind the attention. At first Phil had been worried that she might be coming on too strong, but mother knows best, after all. She can’t be a replacement for Mrs. Rogers, but where Steve has been all alone for nearly a year, perhaps it’s nice to have someone fill that role, if only for a little while.

“You’re sure you kids will be alright?” Mrs. Coulson asks them, standing at the bottom of the staircase.

“We’ll be fine, Mrs. Coulson,” Steve assures her. “Thank you.”

“Well alright,” she answers.

Phil splutters when she walks over and plants a big kiss on his cheek. Steve laughs when he’s treated to the same before she smiles, pats his cheek and turns back to walk up the stairs.

“Make sure you don’t leave the fireplace lit, Phil,” she warns him.

“I know, mum,” he responds.

“Or the candles,” she adds.

“I know, mum,” he says.

“And if you get hungry, there’s food in the fridge but the ham is for tomorrow,” she says.

“I know, mum,” Phil says, patiently. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Coulson,” Steve adds.

“Goodnight,” she says with a smile. “Don’t let Santa catch you out of bed.”

Phil shakes his head with a small laugh as she disappears up the stairs. His mother has always been a worrier—he supposes that’s where he gets it from. Even when it feels like he’s being smothered, he knows he can’t imagine what it would be like without her. Steve doesn’t have to wonder. Which is why Phil’s doing everything he can think of to make sure Steve doesn’t have to focus on that fact. After staring into the slowly dying fire for a minute or so, he nudges Steve with his elbow.

“I’m in the mood for hot chocolate,” he says. “Want some?”

“Like I would say no to that,” Steve answers with a grin.

The two boys move from the den to the kitchen and it’s here that Phil realizes how spoiled he’s become by magic. Having always enjoyed cooking, Phil has found ways to use implement magic in the activity over the years. But being outside of school grounds means they’re not allowed to use magic; not unless they want a hearing before the Magical Congress. Still, he finds himself longing for the use of his wand and has to remind himself that he’d lived without magic long enough that it’s not such a big deal to have to do so again.

“Is this your dad?”

Phil looks up from the pot to find Steve holding a framed picture.

“Yeah. Mum usually puts that one away when there’s company, but I guess since you’re a wizard, she didn’t feel the need to,” Phil admits.

The picture shows Mr. Coulson in his Auror robes, smiling brightly as he holds a baby Phil in one arm and wraps his other around Mrs. Coulson. For obvious reasons, leaving it out for any muggles to see would be a bad idea.

“You look like him,” Steve says.

“Think so?” Phil asks, smoothing has hair down self-consciously.

“Yeah,” Steve says, laughing at the action. “You sure do.”

“Thanks,” Phil replies with a lopsided grin, turning back to the pot to hide his blush. “So do I have to ask if you want marshmallow fluff?”

“You definitely don’t,” Steve says.

Phil nods his head, amused by the response, and gets to work pouring the hot beverage into two large mugs. Next he adds an overly generous dollop of fluff to each before handing one to Steve and keeping one to himself. Making sure the stove is off and the pot is soaking in the sink, the two retreat back to the den, taking their conversation with them. By the time they’ve reached the middle of their mugs, the clock has struck twelve and it’s officially shifted from Christmas Eve to Christmas Day.

“Hey Phil? I just wanted to say thank you,” Steve says as the grandfather clock finishes chiming. “For bringing me here.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Phil assures him shaking his head. “We wanted you here.”

“I just… I wasn’t sure at first. I thought that it would be better if I spent it alone. I didn’t think I could be around other people,” Steve admits. “But I’m glad I’m not alone. I’m really… really glad that I’m not alone.”

Phil can see the moisture gathering in his eyes even as he tries to fight it back. He reaches out and grabs hold of the other boy’s sweater and tugs gently. That’s all the invitation Steve needs. His hugs were different when he was smaller, for now he’s big enough to completely envelop Phil in his tight embrace, but Phil doesn’t mind that it’s maybe just a little too tight.

“I don’t know how much it means to say it, but I’ll always be around,” Phil promises him. “Whenever you need me. And you can stay with mum and I whenever you like. She’s practically demanding that I ask you to move in with us, she likes you so much.”

He hears a teary laugh against his shoulder and thinks, at the very least, he’s done that much.

“Thank you,” Steve says again, softer this time. He draws back after a time, eyes puffy from crying, and looks Phil in the eye. “Promise me you won’t go anywhere, huh?”

“We’re friends. You should know by now that it’s too late to get rid of me,” Phil says with a small smile. “Even after we graduate; you’re stuck with me.”

“Glad to hear it,” Steve says.

“Glad to say it.”

* * *

The candles are blown out and the fire is out when Mrs. Coulson comes down for a glass of water in the middle of the night. The house is dark, but the soft glow of the Christmas tree is light enough for her to see the two teens asleep beneath it. She knows they’re growing up and it’s really perhaps more appropriate to think of them as being young men at this point, but right this second, lying pressed close together in a tangle of limbs, she can’t help but think they look like children. She remembers when Phil was a little boy and as she watches them, part of her feels a sense of sadness; he’ll always be her little boy, but he’s growing up. The time for believing in Santa and fairy tales has passed.

She wonders what Mrs. Rogers might think of her boy now. She could be proud, Mrs. Coulson knows, for there’s a great many things about Steve to be proud of. It’s cruel that such a good boy, such a kind, thoughtful boy should have to be alone. On that front, she’s glad that he and Phil are friends—both for Steve’s sake and for Phil’s. Oh, she’d had her reservations about letting Phil attend the school after what had happened to his father, but with a friend like Steve at his side, she doesn’t worry quite so much.

Pulling a heavy quilt from the closet, she creeps towards the two young wizards and gently drapes it over them. They don’t stir and she’s glad to tiptoe away, leaving them to dream of Christmas morning beneath the tree.


	8. It's Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas (Jasper & Phil)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there was one thing you could count on with having a December birthday, it was that it wouldn't be celebrated until Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dad has a birthday in December, as did his dad. So you can bet their birthdays just got shoved into Christmas, haha. 
> 
> Happy Birthday, Jasper!

Having a December birthday means having to get used to the idea that your special day isn't _the_ special day. And growing up in a house full of siblings and cousins with an overworked mother, aunt and uncle meant that Jasper got used to it pretty quickly. He knows it was never done out of malice or because his family didn’t love his as much as his brothers and sisters, but having his birthday lumped in with Christmas sometimes made it feel that way.

Year after year, he grew more and more comfortable with his birthday being attached to Christmas. It wasn't as though his family had a lot of money to throw around so if he had to simply shift his birthday a few weeks forward, well, it wasn't that big a deal, right? If it meant forgoing a birthday party so his little sister could get that doll she had wanted all year or his older brother could get that jacket to impress the girl down the block, then he could live with that. By the time he was an adult, he'd more or less forgotten why it ever bothered him in the first place. December 8th would come and go and he wouldn't think much of it, if he even remembered it at all.

Until he joined S.H.I.E.L.D.

"Happy Birthday."

Jasper stares up dumbly at the envelope Phil is holding out to him. He chances a look around him and yes, the Christmas decorations are up, but no, it's not Christmas yet.

"Thanks," Jasper says, slowly reaching up to accept the card.

“It’s not going to blow up, I swear,” Phil promises him in response to his hesitation. “Blake was kidding when he said we were developing exploding greeting cards—that’s not on the books for another two years.”

“It’s not that, I just wasn’t expecting a card today,” Jasper explains.

“Well, when _were_ you expecting one?” Phil wants to know.

“Not until Christmas, at least,” Jasper answers. “Maybe New Year’s.”

"I suppose I could have waited, but I think I'd rather give you your birthday card now and your Christmas present on Christmas. I'm punctual like that," Phil says with a shrug. A slight frown passes over his face as he apparently reconsiders what he’s just said. "Today _is_ your birthday isn't it?"

Jasper finds himself reaching for the calendar to double check. Sure enough, it's December 8th and he finds himself completely caught off guard by that fact. And moreover, how does Phil even know? Sure, it’s in his file, but Phil doesn’t pay that close attention to details, does he?

"I guess it is," Jasper says with raised eyebrows.

"You guess? Oh. I see what's going on," Phil declares. "I'm going to venture a guess that you had your birthday celebrated with Christmas as a kid, right?"

"It was just easier that way," Jasper answers. "Christmas is an expensive holiday; throwing a birthday party on top of it was just..."

He shrugs and Phil nods and the point seems to have been made.

“The fate of December’s children,” Phil says, humming thoughtfully. “You know, my mum and I weren’t well off after my dad passed, so I used to have my birthday celebrated on a holiday, too. Only it was the 4th of July so I really didn’t mind that much; not really the same thing. December’s a tough month for birthdays.”

“I understood when I got older,” Jasper tells him. He thinks of his family, of the small, but infinitely cherished Christmas gatherings that meant so much to them. “Some things are more important.”

“Well, Happy Birthday all the same,” Phil says with a smile. “Now come on, we’re going to lunch. You choose where.”

“You say that like I don’t always choose where,” Jasper says, rising from his seat.

“Would you rather I chose?”

“ _God_ no.”

Jasper doesn’t really think much of his birthday. It comes and it goes and it ushers in Christmas as it does every year. Although, let it be said that when he finds a birthday card among the Christmas ones—signed by one Phil Coulson—he has more than a good chuckle.


	9. The Peppermint Pig (Capsicoul, Pepperony, Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil and Steve bring a time-honored tradition to the Christmas table: The Pepperming Pig.

“Did you bring the pig?” Clint asks as everyone finishes off the last of the food on their plates.

“Of course I brought the pig,” Phil answers as though the question were absurd.

“You brought a pig in my Tower? A pig?” Tony demands. “Listen, Phil, just because we’re buddies—“

“We’re not.”

“—doesn’t mean you can bring a filthy animal—“

“They’re not.”

“—into my home.”

“It’s not.”

“I think you just set a new record by having a problem with every single thing I just said,” Tony says flatly. “Including the fact that I said it.”

“Tony, ‘buddies’ isn’t a term I would apply to you and Phil. You’re begrudgingly friends if anything. Secondly, Phil’s right; pigs actually aren’t filthy animals and that’s a large misconception. Lastly, the Tower _isn’t_ yours. If I recall, it’s partly mine. Something like twelve percent, wasn’t it?” Pepper says, sipping pointedly from her glass.

“Okay, you two are _not_ allowed to be in the same room anymore,” Tony says. He looks to Steve. “And aren’t you supposed to hate bullies?”

“Not if you’re sleeping with one,” Natasha mutters under her breath.

“Phil’s not a bully, Nat,” Steve says. “You’d honestly rather we all just let Tony run his mouth?”

“When did this turn into a ‘Pick on Tony’ party? Can we please get back to the fact that Agent has apparently set a pig loose somewhere in the Tower?” Tony demands.

“There’s no pig loose,” Phil assures him. “It’s right here.”

Tony stares with narrowed eyes as Phil lifts a small, red velvet bag. For a moment he doesn’t say anything. He knows he’s being fucked with, he just has to figure out how. Interestingly enough, Steve, Clint and Natasha all seem to be watching him like they’ve got something to tell and would rather see him sweat it out.

“Have you brought one of the beast’s organs?” Thor wonders, looking to the pouch. “Or perhaps its bones?”

“No, nothing like that,” Phil says with a smile towards the Thunderer. “This is actually a tradition I picked up from Peggy Carter who picked it up from Steve. She included me in it when I was a very young agent and I’ve kept it going ever since.”

Tony watches as Phil gently tugs at the drawstrings and deposits a shiny, pink figurine in the shape of a pig. Beside it, he lays out a small, silver hammer. And that’s it. Tony waits, expecting something to happen—perhaps it will explode and rain red, white and blue confetti down upon them. But no, it seems to be a simple figurine.

“It’s a Peppermint Pig,” Steve explains with a smile, looking pleased at the chance to explain it. “The tradition started in the 1880’s. At that time, a pig represented good health, happiness and prosperity. So candy makers crafted a small pig out of solid peppermint. When families were gathered around the table, the pig would be brought out when Christmas dinner was finished. You’d place it in the bag and pass it around the table. Each person would give the pig a tap with the hammer and share a pleasant memory from the past year. Once everyone had a turn, you’d then eat the pieces in the hopes that you’d have the same good fortune in the coming year.”

“God bless us, everyone,” Tony says, his voice high pitched and mocking.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Very funny, Scrooge.”

“Hey,” Tony pouts.

“Why don’t we just get started,” Phil interjects. He replaces the pig in its bag and offers both it and the solver hammer to Pepper. “Want to start us off?”

“I’d love to,” Pepper says with a smile, accepting both. “Let’s see, a pleasant memory. Well, I’d have to say that it’s having all of you move in to the Tower. When I was a little girl, both my parents worked and we moved frequently because of it and I was an only child. So it’s nice to have all of you here and to have a full house.”

“Aye, I’ll drink to that,” Thor says with a broad grin as they all raise their glasses to mimic him.

Pepper smiles as she gives the velvet back a pleasant little tap with the hammer before passing it along to Steve. Tony fidgets unnoticed as they go around the table, sharing heartfelt moments, comical moments, moments of togetherness. This isn’t exactly his strong suit. He knows what’s going to happen; he’ll say something witty and comical and they’ll hassle him until he can come up with something worthy of the memories they’d all shared.  Which he won’t.

It’s as Thor is recounting his first Thanksgiving that fate decides to intervene. He’s certain Thor doesn’t do it intentionally, but they really should have seen it coming. Where they’d all used the small, silver hammer that Phil had brought as part of the package, Thor didn’t even consider it. Perhaps wielding something so puny compared to Mjolnir would have been an insult. In any case, Thor lifts his hammer and gives the velvet bag the barest of taps. Or his approximation, anyway. The moment the hammer touches the pig, it shatters. Disintegrates is more like it.

“Wow. Way to go, Thor,” Clint says in approval. “Is there anything left of it?”

Thor slowly opens the bag and peers inside with a frown. “It would appear your peppermint pig has been reduced to a powder. My apologies, Son of Coul.”

“It happens, Thor,” Steve says.

“Well, not really. I’ve never seen this happen. Ever,” Phil declares. He smiles as Thor’s face falls a fraction. “I mean that as a compliment. This isn’t that bad; we can just sprinkle it in our hot chocolate.”

“Or we could always make frozen hot chocolate margaritas with peppermint powder on the rim,” Clint suggests.

“That one. I vote that one,” Tony says, already rising from his seat. “Alright let’s get started on—“

“Not so fast, Mr. Stark,” Phil cuts in. “It seems everyone here shared something except for you.”

“Yeah, it does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Tony agrees. “But your pig’s been obliterated. No hammer tapping, to memory sharing. Those are the rules, aren’t they?”

“You’re not getting out of this, Tony,” Natasha assures him. “Better just to get it over with.”

Tony looks around the table at the collection of expectant faces. “Oh come on, you guys know I’m crap with this stuff.”

“No excuses,” Steve says with a shrug. “Just one memory Tony. It’s not that hard. Just give us one pleasant memory from this year and that’s it.”

“Alright, alright, alright,” Tony says, groaning in aggravation as he grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes sockets. He scours his brain before latching onto something he’s sure will get them off his back. The thing is, it’s kind of a big one. One he’s not sure he wants to say and that he’s surprised hasn’t been brought up yet. But considering he can’t think of anything else, well, he’ll just have to bite the bullet. “How about Phil?”

“I already shared a memory,” Phil responds.

“No, I mean… you,” Tony says, scrubbing his hands over his face and shrugging awkwardly. “I think most of us can agree that finding out you weren’t dead was a pretty pleasant memory, right?”

And suddenly Tony’s not sure whose face is redder, his or Phil’s. Steve wraps an arm around the agent with a soft smile, and Tony feel’s Pepper’s hand on his arm and yeah, just like he thought, way too many feelings floating around.

“That’s a good one,” Clint says. “Actually, I’m surprised it came from you.”

“Yeah, yeah, and my heart grew three sizes, blah, blah, blah, can we get down to the alcohol, please? I’m way too sober for all of this,” Tony says.

That gets them all moving towards the kitchen, loudly discussing the various drinks that they could throw their peppermint powder into. Tony’s fully intent on joining them, but a hand on his shoulder stops him. He twists around to find Phil regarding him thoughtfully.

“You’re not going to try and drag me into a touchy-feely conversation, are you?” Tony asks warily.

“No,” Phil says, holding his hand out. “Merry Christmas, Tony.”

Ducking his head, Tony shakes the agent’s hand. But it seems a little lackluster. Oh, what the hell. Pulling the agent in, Tony wraps an arm around him, thumping him manly upon the back. Phil returns the action before they pull apart.

“Merry Christmas, Phil. Now come on, I want to see what an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. looks like shitfaced.”

“Don’t push your luck, Stark.”


	10. Do You Want to Build a Snowman? (Natasha & Phil)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While waiting for an extraction, Natasha and Phil make snowmen.

Natasha hasn’t known Phil Coulson very long. Long enough to work with him, long enough to know he’s good at his job, but not long enough to truly know him. Which is why she’s wondering if she’s seeing what she thinks she’s seeing as they lie on their bellies in the snow, waiting for an extraction.

“Are you making little snowmen?” she asks.

“Snowpeople. They’re not all men,” Phil assures her, packing snow between his gloved hands. “Wanna help?”

Natasha stares at the small army that the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent is amassing before him and, knowing they have a bit of a wait ahead of them, she shrugs and says, “Sure.”

“Did you make many snowmen as a kid?” Phil asks her.

“I know what you’re doing,” Natasha tells him, collecting small bits of twig and pebbles for supplies. “You should know you’re not the first to attempt it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve had plenty of people try to make you think they understand you so you’ll do as they like,” Phil says, nodding to himself as he pokes twigs into the snowball he holds in his hands. “I just want to know if you built snowmen.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything straight away. Usually she can get a read on someone without much of a problem, but Phil is presenting an interesting challenge. Everything about him seems to suggest that he really does just want to talk, but everything she knows tells her not to fall for that. Not to believe him. Not to let him in.

“That kind of behavior was strongly discouraged,” Natasha says, setting her first snowman down in front of her.

“That must have been hard for a kid,” Phil says.

“It was all we knew,” Natasha says. “I assume you built plenty of snowmen.”

“More than I can count,” Phil says with a chuckle. “I always loved winter as a kid. Boston pond hockey can’t be beat.”

Natasha snorts. “You’re speaking to a Russian.”

“I still stand by my statement,” Phil says, moving on to crafting little hockey sticks out of twigs. “Do you skate?”

“As I said, you’re speaking to a Russian,” Natasha says, giving him a look that clearly asks if he’s kidding.

“Right. I should’ve guessed,” Phil says. “You should try skating at Rockefeller Center. It’s cliché, sure, but it’s a good time and the decorations around Christmas are great. And hey, maybe you can be the one to finally convince Barton to lace up a pair of skates.”

Phil rambles on as they continue to fortify their population of snowpeople and the longer Natasha listens, the more perplexed she becomes. She knows he’s attempting to gain her trust, but the thing is, she still can’t detect the ulterior motive. Because there must be one. There always is.

* * *

Natasha scoops up a handful of snow. It had been a good snowfall, the kind that leaves plenty of the light, fluffy stuff that’s perfect for packing into the best kinds of snowballs. Or snowmen. She gently sets the base on the top of the headstone before moving on to make the midsection. As she stands there, she hears the sound of footfalls drawing closer, crunching in the fresh snow. She hesitates a fraction of a second before resuming her snow packing as the newcomer comes to stand beside her. He grabs a handful of snow for himself and, without a word, begins building one of his own.

“What are you doing here?” Natasha asks.

“I dunno. Kind of wanted to see it for myself,” Phil answers. “Needed someplace quiet to think.”

“This is a good a place as any,” Natasha informs him.

He hums in agreement, placing the base of his snowman atop the headstone beside hers. They construct their snowmen in silence, with only the sound of crunching snow and the occasional tinkling of icicles as the wind rattles the bare, frozen tree branches interrupting.

“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” Phil says, putting the finishes touches on his creation.

“I put the pieces together,” Natasha answers.

“Melinda told you.”

“Melinda told me.”

Natasha hears him huff a laugh as she admires the two little snowmen sitting atop his headstone. It’s been quite a few years since the first ones they’d made together. She remembers thinking he’d wanted something from her and she’d been right. The thing is, she never expected it to be something she’d wind up wanting him to have.

Wordlessly, she turns to him and pulls him into a tight embrace. She rests her head on his shoulder, letting him wrap his arms around her. She can feel him breathing, can feel him pressed against her, warm and solid and very much alive.

“You know, I never did skate at Rockefeller Center,” she says.

Phil draws back enough to look to her with a hesitant smile. “I’ll buy the hot chocolate?”

“And pay for the skate rentals.”

“Ouch.”

“Be glad I worked out my anger over this weeks ago.”

He nods, his smile still in place as she begins to pull away. He stops her short, his hand on her wrist. She turns to look back at him and she knows this isn’t the man who had laid belly-down in the snow and built a town of snow people. But she isn’t the woman who had laid there either, so she figures it all works out in the end.

“Natasha?”

She tilts her head, encouraging him to continue.

“I really am sorry. For everything,” Phil says, squeezing her wrist once, gently.

“I know,” she assures him.

Neither of them say anything more as they walk hand-in-hand back through the snow towards the street where Phil’s car is parked. The snowmen stay behind, playing sentry to an empty tomb as the two figures retreat into the winter weather, taking their secrets with them.


	11. And Since We've No Place to Go... (Capsicoul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spending Christmas Eve snowed into a cave while treating a gunshot wound was not Steve's idea of romantic.

Steve watches as Phil tips his head back against the icy cavern wall, panting as the soldier pulls back layers of clothing to get at his wound. This isn’t how he’d envisioned spending Christmas Eve. Instead of sitting by the fire, sipping eggnog and surrounded by friends, he finds himself snowed into a cave and pressing bloodied hands to the hole in his partner’s side.

“I don’t feel an exit wound,” Steve says, letting frustration color his tone.

“Just… not our day, huh?” Phil says, failing to sound as unconcerned as he was perhaps hoping to.

“You’ll be okay. I set off the distress beacon just before the cave-in. They’ll be on their way to get us, we just need to sit tight,” Steve says, grabbing the pack beside the agent and rifling through that. “Think you can do that?”

“I’ve had worse,” Phil answers.

Steve nods, squeezing his knee. Thank goodness they have their supply pack; without that, he knows their dire situation would have been even more so. He pulls the emergency foil blanket and a handful of gauze pads from within and sets them aside to begin the unenviable task of shifting the agent to his lap. To his credit, Phil doesn’t make a peep apart from his quickened breathing as Steve moves him to sit with his back against Steve’s chest. He spreads the foil blanket to cover them both before once again taking the wadded up layers of gauze in hand.

“I need to put pressure on the wound,” Steve tells him unnecessarily. He knows Phil’s been waiting for this. “Ready?”

Phil doesn’t say anything, just nods. Steve decides not to drag it out as he places the gauze against the gunshot wound and applies pressure. The moment he does, he hears a noise from Phil. It’s barely there, choked back to keep his dignity intact and trapped behind tightly sealed lips. He feels Phil grabbing his pant leg in a whiteknuckle grip, his entire body rigid with tension as he does his best to accommodate the pain.

“I’m okay,” he says at last. It’s more gasped than anything else, but it tugs at Steve’s heartstrings to know that Phil still feels the need to reassure him. “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

“Just hang tight,” Steve says in his ear. “It shouldn’t be long until they come for us.”

“Sipping hot chocolate in no time, huh?” Phil asks breathlessly.

“With extra marshmallows,” Steve agrees, pressing a kiss to the side of his face. “Until then, just stay awake.”

“Right,” Phil says in agreement.

Easier said than done, Steve knows. Phil’s already lost a fair amount of blood and, despite what he’d said not moments ago, Steve really has no idea just when they’ll be found. That only means he’s going to have to do everything he can to keep Phil awake and talking.

“So it looks like we won’t make it to Boston for Christmas this year,” Steve notes.

“It’s too bad. I really wanted you to see it,” Phil says. “It’s not Rockefeller Center but it’s… The lights at Faneuil Hall… the tree in the Common… you’d love it.”

“Next year, then,” Steve assures him. “I want the full tour.”

“I should visit mum and dad,” Phil says aloud. “It’s been a while.”

“Well we don’t have to wait until next year for that,” Steve says. “We should go soon.”

“They’d’ve like you,” Phil tells him. “Mum especially.”

“And I’m sure I would’ve loved them,” Steve replies. “We’ll be sure to bring them something nice. A wreath, some flowers…”

Phil hums in agreement, but doesn’t pick up from where Steve had left off. Steve can feel blood already beginning to soak through the gauze pressed to the agent’s abdomen just as he can feel Phil beginning to shiver from more than just the cold. He does his best to wrap himself around his partner, trying to transfer whatever warmth he can from his own body as he counts the minutes since he’d deployed the distress beacon.

“Phil, come on now, you need to stay awake,” Steve says, rousing him.

“Sorry. Sorry, must’ve… dozed a bit,” Phil answers.

Steve wracks his brain, trying to think of the best method for keeping him engaged and awake.

“So what’d you get me for Christmas?” he asks.

Phil snorts at that. “I’m not quite delirious enough to give that up.”

“Not even a hint?” Steve presses.

“You’re so impatient,” Phil says. “You’ll find out tomorrow morning.”

“But what if I want to know now?” Steve needles.

“I guess that’s just too bad for you,” Phil answers.

“Fine, fine. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see,” Steve says with an overdramatic sigh. “Did you figure out what you wanted to get Skye?”

“Mm. Still not sure about it,” Phil mumbles. “I don’t know if she’ll like it or not.”

“Well, considering you’ve been trying to come up with the perfect gift for four months, I think she’ll appreciate whatever it is,” Steve assures him. “Feel like letting me in on the secret?”

“It’s a locket. It belonged to my mother. I thought…” Phil says. “…there’s a picture. Of the team. Mum would’ve liked to see her wear it, I think and… I’m still not sure…”

“Phil, you’re overthinking it,” Steve assures him. “You know Skye will love it.”

Phil hums again in response, but doesn’t deign to offer him any further conversation. Steve continues to prod him awake, but time and again Phil drifts off. How long has it been? How long have they been waiting in this little cave with the dull light of emergency light stick washing over them? How much blood has Phil lost already? How much damage has been done by that bullet that he can’t see? It’s getting harder to keep Phil conscious and he’s really not sure how many more times he can force him awake.

Just as things seem the most dismal, he can hear them. The sounds of shifting rock and snow greet his ears and, taking Phil in his arms, he moves to the back of the cave. A few minutes later, a hole appears and grows larger by the second. Looking up at the team shouting down to him with the midnight moon at their backs, Steve thinks that anyone who doesn’t believe in the power of a Christmas miracle has never really needed one.


	12. This Is Christmas (Capsicoul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's holiday galas aren't exactly Phil's cup of tea.

 “I get the feeling I’m going to have to pry you off the wall with a crowbar.”

Phil looks up with a half-smile at Steve’s words, gratefully accepting the glass of eggnog being offered to him. Of course, he’d seen the man making his way through the throng of people—very slowly, as he was far too polite to blow off anyone who tried to talk to him, which seemed to be every third person he passed—but hadn’t openly acknowledged him until he’d come close.

“It’s where I’m most comfortable,” Phil answers, sipping the holiday beverage.

“That may be so, but even the diligent agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. deserve a break from their duties during the holidays,” Steve says, taking his place leaning against the wall beside Phil. “I think the party will survive without you playing watchful guardian.”

Phil huffs a laugh at that, glancing sidelong at his partner. The super soldier is dressed impeccably in a classic, navy blue three-piece suit. The red and white striped tie is a nice touch, but then, Phil doesn’t expect anything less from Pepper’s sense of style. The blonde’s face is pleasantly flushed and the hint of a smile lingers on his lips even as he stands still beside the agent. As much as Steve has protested being roped into attending one of Tony Stark’s infamous Christmas parties, he’s enjoying himself. He’s happy.

“I don’t doubt it,” Phil tells him. “But Stark’s littered the Tower with mistletoe; there’s no safer place than where I am now.”

“I never would have thought,” Steve says, trying desperately not to smile, “that the fearless Agent Coulson would be scared of a little mistletoe.”

Phil plays along, raising his hands defensively. “You’ve found me out. My one true weakness.”

“I’ll have to remember that later tonight then,” Steve says, sipping his eggnog innocently.

“So long as you also remember that I’d like my ‘present’ without any ‘wrapping,’” Phil adds under his breath.

He takes a sort of delight in the way Steve chokes on his eggnog and coughs into the napkin in his other hand, his face a few shades redder than it had been a moment ago. Most of the things he says don’t faze the super soldier these days, but when his timing is right and the comment comes without warning, he can sometimes still manage to make the taller man blush. It’s a good look for him, in Phil’s humble opinion.

“Here comes trouble,” Phil notes, nodding toward the crowd.

Tony is gliding effortlessly through the crowd of people, passing with much greater ease than Steve had. It’s familiar territory for him.

“Please tell me you are not seriously going to hang out by this wall all night,” Tony says once he reaches them.

“I’m very happy to just observe, thank you,” Phil informs him.

“What? Phil, it’s Christmas. Lighten up! Loosen the tie!” Tony says, gesturing wildly with the hand that isn’t clutching his glass of eggnog. “I’m pretty sure you’re at the top of Santa’s Nice List, so you can relax for just one night.”

“He seems to be worried about the mistletoe minefield you’ve made this floor of the Tower into,” Steve comments.

Tony scoffs. “It’s Christmas.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to be heckled into kissing anyone in front of the dime-a-dozen socialites you call your friends,” Phil says flatly.

“But it’s _Christmas_.”

“I’m not changing my mind,” Phil tells him.

“No relaxing? Not even a little?” Tony wheedles. He looks to Steve imploring. “Come on, Spangles, help me out here.”

“What do you think I was doing before you walked over?” Steve asks with a quick laugh.

“Come on, please? Whatever it takes to make my guests stop asking why I’ve posted an armed guard at the door,” Tony says. “Besides, you owe me. You slept through the last Christmas party.”

“Tony, he was still recovering last Christmas,” Steve reminds him.

“That doesn’t change the fact that he slept through it and still owes me,” Tony declares. He gives Phil a disapproving look. “Your first Christmas as a couple and you’re going to waste it by vigilantly guarding the wall and leaving Steve to the wolves. I dunno, Phil, sounds like a pretty lousy move to me.”

“Well, I could use a break from navigating the wolf pack anyway,” Steve says.

Tony regards them both thoughtfully for a moment. “Alright fine. The roof is free and stupidly romantic and I’ll give JARVIS the okay to let you up. Just please, please stop standing there like some agent of death.”

Steve looks to Phil questioningly and the agent folds. Well, he can’t exactly refuse an offer like that and he really would like some time alone with Steve.

“I’m not that scary,” Phil protests.

Tony and Steve offer him a look that says otherwise.

“Oh, fine,” Phil sighs, offering his arm to Steve. “To the roof, then?”

“To the roof,” Steve says in agreement.

Tony watches them leave, trying not to feel too pleased with himself. Pepper purposefully makes her way through the crowd, apparently having watched Steve and Phil make their exit. With a slow smile, she stands at Tony’s side, sipping her drink and looking in the direction they’d gone off.

“So did you tell the two of them that you set up the rooftop for them?” Pepper asks.

“What? God, no. You think I want them thinking I like them or something?” Tony scoffs.


	13. I'll Be Home for Christmas (Simwell)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma hadn't thought Jasper would be nervous about being brought home to her parents for Christmas.

Jemma can’t help but notice that Jasper never truly sits still for the entirety of their flight. He drums his fingers against the armrest, bounces his knee, gets up to walk to the restroom more times than she can count. About three hours into their flight she decides to say something about it.

“Are you feeling alright?” she asks, leaning towards him worriedly. “You’re not sick, are you?”

“I’m fine,” he says. “Not sick at all.”

“Really? Because you certainly don’t seem fine,” Jemma points out.

“It’s nothing and I’m fine. Really,” Jasper replies.

Jemma studies him as he tries to ignore her and go back to fiddling with whatever app he’d been preoccupying himself with prior to her questioning. No, something is definitely wrong. Jasper is the sort of man who never outright lies; half of what he tells you will be the truth. So she believes him when he says he’s not ill. But as for being fine? That’s another story. And she thinks she knows just what it might be.

“You’re not nervous are you?” she asks slowly.

He makes a noise at the back of his throat but doesn’t answer beyond that.

“You are, aren’t you? Big, bad Agent Sitwell is nervous about being taken home to mummy and daddy,” Jemma teases.

“Oh, real funny,” he says. “That’s hilarious.”

“Come on, you have to see it from my perspective,” Jemma says, patting his arm. “You’re not the sort to get anxious very easily and it’s a little strange to think that taking you home to my parents for Christmas managed to do that.”

“I’ve got a lot to be nervous about,” Jasper says. “There’s the age difference between us—“

“Which they already know about.”

“—and I’m sure they’d prefer if their daughter was dating someone a little taller with a little more hair.”

“Oh, don’t even get on that topic, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Or the fact that I’m Honduran—“

“My parents aren’t _racist_ Jasper, my god!”

“No! No, I’m not saying that,” Jasper blurts at her shocked expression. “But sometimes white parents don’t like the idea of their precious little girl having colored babies.”

“Who said anything about babies?” Jemma asks suspiciously.

Admittedly, Jasper looks rather comical with his slack jawed expression, but she takes pity on him and decides not to drag his torture out any further. She can see this is something that is truly eating at him and since it is, it makes her sure that these fears are founded in past experience. The thought turns her stomach, thinking that he’s had to deal with these kinds of things simply for the color of his skin.

“You need to relax,” Jemma says. “They’re going to love you. They were the ones who were so insistent that I bring you for Christmas and they’ve been dying to meet you. As far as they’re concerned, you make me happy and you treat me right and that’s more than good enough for them.”

“I wasn’t trying to call your family racist,” Jasper assures her. “Or imply that we should have children. It’s just…”

“I understand. And I’m sorry that you’ve been through that,” Jemma says, kissing his cheek. “But that’s not something you’ll have to worry about with my family. They will love you every bit as much as I do.”

“As much as you do?” Jasper asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Well,” Jemma says with a faint blush. “Perhaps not as much as I do…”

Jasper just grins, taking her hand in his. She has to wonder how long this has been bothering him and can only imagine that it’s not something he began worrying about this morning. She’s been looking forward to this so much that she hadn’t even thought that he might be nervous about meeting her parents. He was so skilled at keeping it together that she never considered that it might be an issue for him.

Days later as she watches Jasper and her father laughing themselves to tears as they cook Christmas dinner, she marvels that he’d ever been nervous at all. And when it’s finally time for them to go and her mother begs them to visit again soon, she can see that Jasper truly means it when he says he can’t wait to come back.


	14. Oh What a Christmas to Have the Blues (Melinda & Phil)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first Christmas after losing someone is always the hardest and Melinda's not about to let Phil spend it alone.

Melinda stokes the fire before looking over her shoulder into the kitchen. Phil’s laughing at something her mother says as they roll dough, their hands coated in flour. It’s a good sound. One she hasn’t heard recently. She misses it, she finds. She misses that uninhibited, dorky laugh of his. It’s strange going to work every day and finding that his easy smile won’t come so easily any more. Not that she blames him. None of them do. Still, it’s always more noticeable when the brightest among them seems a little bit dimmer.

Phil had taken his mother’s death hard. She’d been all he’d had left for family and losing her had taken something out of him. They’d all seen that. But here and now he looks more alive than he had in weeks, thanks largely in part to her mother. When she washes her hands and excuses herself to use the restroom, Phil comes to Melinda and sits beside her on the hearth.

“Thank you,” he tells her. “For inviting me here.”

“Mom insisted,” Melinda says with a slight shrug of her shoulder.

“All the same, I appreciate it,” Phil says, ducking his head. “More than you know.”

They sit side by side, warming themselves by the fire but not speaking a word. She’d half expected him not to come when she’d asked him to join her and her mother for Christmas, but perhaps that’s just what she would’ve done if she were in his shoes. Phil is a social creature by nature, one who thrives when he’s among other people. He’s always seemed elastic to her; able to bounce back from anything thrown at him. In this case, it’s something of an exception.

She knew Mrs. Coulson well—they all did. It was easy to see where her son had gotten his resilience, his ability to see the best in others. She had been nothing short of a saint, full of patience and understanding, able to supply a firm hand when needed and not about to take anyone’s bull. She was a wellspring of gentle strength and losing her has pulled the rug out from beneath Phil’s feet.

He’s distanced himself from them to take his time to grieve, but as much as he needs it, she knows that distance is killing him. As much as he doesn’t want to be around them while he’s like this, she knows he craves their company. The thought of allowing him to spend Christmas alone wasn’t one that had sat well with her—or her mother.

“I’m sorry, I know I haven’t exactly been imbued with the Christmas spirit these past few weeks,” he says suddenly.

“Phil,” Melinda says, waiting until he looks her in the eye to continue. “No one’s asking that of you. You lost the most important person in your life; no one is expecting you to be okay.”

“I know, but—“

“No. No buts,” Melinda says. She places a hand on his, contented when he leans towards her just a fraction. “You’re not alone, Phil. It might not be the same, but remember that we’re all here for you.”

“This isn’t just about spending Christmas alone, is it?” Phil asks.

“It never was,” Melinda answers.

She doesn’t protest when he pulls her into a hug. She knows how much he values these instances of physical contact and if she knows anything—and she does—then he’s probably cut himself off from anything more than a brief handshake for weeks. Apart from the 4th of July, she knows Christmas is his favorite holiday and the thought of him spending it alone in his apartment made some part of her ache in a way that she couldn’t quite describe.

Phil Coulson without his big, dumb smile and his stupid puns and his ugly Christmas sweaters made the holiday seem less bright. Less what it was supposed to be.

“Melinda?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you. For everything, not just for tonight,” he says against her shoulder. “Thank you for being here.”

“Merry Christmas, Phil.”

“Merry Christmas, Melinda.”

Her mother comes back shortly thereafter and they both join her in the kitchen. And if Phil smiles a little brighter and laughs a little louder, then Melinda considers it a successful Christmas.


	15. Waltz of the Flowers (Skye & Phil; SkyeOC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye agrees to go ice skating for a date. Only one problem: she doesn't know how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Throwing Andy in the mix again. Because I like her paired with Skye, that's why.  
> (2) I always think of the "Waltz of the Flowers" bit from "Fantasia" when I think of ice skating, so, there's the title.

“I need you to teach me how to skate.”

Phil looks up from his coffee mug in surprise to find Skye standing resolutely before him, hands on her hips and with an expression like a woman on a mission. He leans back in his seat, setting his tablet aside and devoting the entirety of his attention to her.

“You need me to teach you how to skate,” Phil repeats.

“Yeah,” Skye says.

“Is there any reason _why_ you have a sudden burning desire to learn?” Phil presses.

Skye purses her lips and narrows her eyes and that’s all the answer he needs.

“Andy,” he deduces.

“Your darling daughter thought it would be romantic to go ice skating at Rockefeller Center,” Skye says.

“And you lied and told her you knew how,” Phil says, his lips curling up in a smug smile.

“Oh, haha, laugh it up Director Jackass,” Skye says punching him in the arm. “So are you gonna teach me or not?”

* * *

Okay, so, lying to your girlfriend about knowing how to skate in order to avoid embarrassment was not the brightest of ideas. It’s not as though she thought Andy would’ve laughed at her or anything, it’s just that… well… she’d seemed so excited by the idea that Skye hadn’t wanted to dampen her spirits by bringing up the minor detail that she had never ice skated in her life.

“You’re sure no one’s going to see us?” Skye asks, looking around the snow covered hills.

“Positive,” Phil assures her as he rises off the rock they’d designated as a bench. “Are you laced up and ready to go?”

“Laced up,” Skye responds, standing on shaky legs. “Not so sure on that ready part, though…”

“You’ll be fine,” Phil says, holding out a hand. “Everyone’s gotta start somewhere.”

As they glide slowly out to the center of the pond, Skye finds herself doing something that’s become familiar ground: trusting Phil not to let her fall. She’d always seen him as a fatherly type, but it’s moments like these where she can see that he’s a dad to his core. His instruction is gentle and encouraging, never making her feel silly for her mistakes or her questions and always leaving her certain that he’s got her, no matter what.

Not for the first time, she wonders what it might have been like to grow up with something like this. She wonders what it might have been like to have a dad to take her to frozen ponds to teach her how to skate.

“When did you learn how to skate?” she asks, keeping affirm grip on his hands as he leads her.

“When I was about five or six. My mom taught me,” he answers, paying attention to her feet. “She loved skating. She was a figure skater when she was young. A good one at that.”

“Oh yeah? Did you ever do anything with it?” she asks, watching as they glide slowly across the frozen surface.

“I played hockey. Although, that was really more of an outlet for my anger issues,” he admits.

“Anger issues. You,” Skye prompts, quirking a disbelieving eyebrow.

He meets her gaze with a lopsided grin. “I was a troubled kid. More often than not I just got my ass handed to me, but hockey was a good way for me to… blow off some steam.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t picture it,” Skye tells him. “I mean you’re so…”

She shrugs, almost losing her footing with the action, but Phil keeps her upright, his hands never letting go of hers. Maybe this is a topic she shouldn’t be pushing for details on, but Phil’s kind of an enigma, in some senses. He’ll share personal information like it was nothing, but the moments when he does so are rare.

“People change. Sometimes for the better, sometimes not,” Phil tells her. “Sometimes they just need a second chance.”

Ah. Second chances. Now there’s something that makes sense. Still, she figures she’s prodded into that particular subject enough for one day. Perhaps she can pick it up another time.

“Did you teach Andy to skate?” Skye asks.

Phil nods, a smile tugging at his lips. “If it’s any consolation, you’re doing better than she did during her first lesson.”

“Yeah?”

“She had to use a traffic cone.”

“Oh my _god_.”

“But she’s the stubborn sort—“

“I wonder where she got that from.”

Phil gives her a stern look, to which she just responds with a grin.

“Anyway, she practiced. She never gave up on it and, eventually, she got really good at it,” Phil explains. “Her biggest problem was deciding whether she wanted to be a figure skater or a hockey player. So I told her to be both, if she liked.”

“So in other words, she’s going to be judging the hell out of me,” Skye says flatly.

“Do you really believe that?” Phil asks her. “Sure, you’re not going to be doing triple axels or anything, but I think she’ll appreciate the fact that you went out of your way to learn this for her. Although, that being said, I’m sure she would’ve loved to teach you. Why were you so adamant about knowing beforehand?”

Skye shrugs, looking down at their feet. Phil glides along like he was born on skates. She wobbles along after him on crooked ankles, looking like a newborn fawn trying out its legs for the first time.

“I dunno. I guess I just wanted it to be perfect,” she admits. “After the way things went with Ward, I didn’t… you know, I didn’t want this. I was sure I didn’t want anything like this. But she’s just so… so… you know?”

Phil chuckles softly. “I know.”

“She had this way of making everything feel like it would be okay even after it had all gone to shit,” Skye says. “And I wanted this to be perfect.”

“I want you to understand something: it doesn’t have to be perfect to be perfect,” Phil tells her. “And I think you’re starting to get the hang of this anyhow.”

“You think so?”

“I think so.”

Skye sniffles quietly, still watching their feet, and says, “It’s cold out.”

“I’m glad you noticed.”

“I can’t feel my toes.”

“That’s usually a sign to call it a day. Hot chocolate time?”

“Hot chocolate time.”


	16. Up on the House Top (Capsicoul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. with the speediest Pokemon have a special task come Christmas Eve: delivering presents to children whose families can't afford them.

Steve looks over the assembled company as they finish getting into their suits and gather their respective bags, chattering all the while. It’s a warm, friendly atmosphere and he finds himself smiling just from the happy buzz of conversation floating through the room.

“So you really do this every year?” Steve asks, adjusting the fake beard on his face.

“It’s a tradition,” Phil answers, patting the snout of his Dragonite, Buster. “They’ve been doing it since before I was even an agent.”

“Well, I think it’s a great way to spend Christmas Eve,” Steve says, looking up at his Arcanine, Liberty. “Isn’t that right, Libby?”

The great firebreather nuzzles him affectionately, a pleased growl rumbling in her breast. Apparently it’s a bit of a tradition for agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. with speedy Pokémon to dress up as Old Saint Nick and deliver presents to children who might not otherwise get any. This year, Steve and Libby have decided to offer their assistance. Being a speedy Pokémon, Libby is more than up for the challenge. She’s an old girl, but Arcanines have longer lifespans than most Pokémon and she hasn’t showed any signs of slowing down.

Steve chances a glance as Phil interacts with Bus. Bus is an older Pokémon, too. From what Steve’s learned, he was first partnered with Phil’s father and, when he was killed in the line of duty, Bus dedicated himself to protecting and watching over Phil. The two were inseparable.

“You look good in that Santa suit,” Steve says.

Phil turns and gives him a perplexed look that makes Steve thankful the beard conceals most of his blush. He clears his throat, waving a hand as he begins to explain.

“Well, I mean, your eyes. You have the kind of eyes I think Santa should have,” Steve says.

“Think so?” Phil asks, folding his arms across his chest.

“You sell the role pretty well,” Steve says.

“Let’s hope so,” Phil answers. “You usually catch at least one out of bed.”

“Alright people, let’s make with the merry! Toys aren’t gonna deliver themselves!”

The two look up as Nick calls all of them to order and begin making their final preparations.

“You have your course?” Phil asks him.

“Plugged into the GPS and ready to go,” Steve assures him.

“If you need any help, just give me a call,” Phil tells him. “The first time takes a little getting used to.”

“Right. Thanks, Phil,” Steve answers. “You sure you’re alright to fly? Snow’s coming down pretty heavy.”

“Bus and I have been through worse. Haven’t we, big guy?” Phil says, patting the Dragonite on the haunch.

The dragon Pokémon snorts in agreement, rising up to his full height in an effort to reassure Steve that he was more than up to the task.

“Then I guess I’ll see you tonight,” Steve says.

“Plan on tomorrow morning,” Phil says. “My course is a little longer than yours. Safe travels, Steve.”

“Same to you.”

* * *

It’s in the wee hours of the morning when Phil makes it back to base. He’s quick to put Bus back in his Pokéball, wanting to get him warmed up as soon as possible after such a tough flight. He’d told Steve they had it under control, but the storm had been worse than he’d thought. More than once he’d considered calling it a night and heading back, but the thought of what the presents would mean to those kids and Bus’s determination pushed him forward.

He’s proud of his Dragonite. Say what they might about his age, Bus couldn’t be beat when it came to buckling down and giving it his all.

“Phil.”

He looks up quickly at the sound of his name being called only to find Steve and Libby making a beeline for him.

“Steve. How did your night go?” he asks, trying to stop his teeth from chattering.

“It went well. No problems to report,” Steve says, his eyes raking over Phil from head to toe. “You, on the other hand, look like you had a hell of a time out there.”

“Storm’s bad,” Phil says simply.

To Phil’s surprise, the soldier reaches for his hand.

“Christ, you’re freezing,” he says. “Why don’t you change into something warmer and then come sit with Libby and me? She’ll warm you up pretty quick.”

For a moment, Phil’s too distracted by the large, warm hand still gripping his to answer.

“Oh. I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Phil says. “You don’t have to stay up.”

“If you won’t sit with me because you’re cold, will you at least sit with me because I’d like you too?” Steve asks.

Phil isn’t sure what to say when Steve flashes him one of his trademark grins so he goes with the first thing that comes to mind: “I’d like that. A lot.”

And as they walk off hand-in-hand, it seems that after a long night of delivering presents, Phil’s gotten one of his own.


	17. A Beautiful Sight, We're Happy Tonight (Capsicoul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Phil use their day off to pick out a Christmas tree and reflect on what makes the season special.

Phil has always been big on Christmas. He’s loves the togetherness, the family aspect—especially considering his family has no blood relatives in it. Still, as he strolls through rows of pine trees with Steve, he can’t help but be struck by the domesticity of it all. Picking out a Christmas Tree for their apartment is the sort of thing that most normal couples do, except they’ve never exactly been a normal couple. Normal couples don’t suspiciously check the parking lot for Doctor Doom or wonder if Loki has disguised himself as a Christmas Tree.

“This one?” Steve asks.

“Would it fit?” Phil wonders. “I think it might be a little too big.”

“That’s what you said the first time we slept together and we learned a valuable lesson about hard work and believing in yourself,” Steve mutters under his breath, smiling as he innocently inspects the tree.

Phil gives him a sidelong glance, amusement dancing in his eyes as he nudges the taller man playfully. Steve only makes those kinds of jokes when they have time to be alone together, which means Phil rarely hears him make them. That they’ve managed to make some time for themselves is like a breath of fresh air.

“But seriously, I don’t think the apartment’s ceilings are high enough.”

“I think you’re right. It’s too bad; this one looked the best so far,” Steve laments.

“I’m sure we’ll find one,” Phil assures him. “If not here then somewhere else. We’ve got time.”

“It’s nice not to feel rushed for once,” Steve agrees, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “I think this is the first real day off either of us have had in weeks.”

“I can’t even remember the last time I got to sleep in,” Phil sighs, remembering earlier that morning. “Oh, what about this one?”

They poke around for another thirty minutes until they find a tree that’s just right. So they tie it to the top of the SUV and decide to reward themselves with a quick snack. Which is how they find themselves sitting on a park bench nursing cups of hot chocolate and eating a bag of roasted peanuts. They watch people pass, judge impromptu snowball fights and point out the lights and decorations that have turned the park into a winter wonderland.

“I think this was just what the doctor ordered,” Phil says.

“I think I’ll have to agree,” Steve says.

“And as few and are between as these days are for us, it’s the fact that we’re doing our jobs that means everyone else can have them,” Phil says, watching as children begin the construction of a snowman. “That makes it all worthwhile. People have told me that they find it strange I never settled down and had a family and, I won’t lie, I wanted those things. But I knew I couldn’t be happy without this job. It’s not always easy and sometimes it’s frustrating but they’re the reason I’m here. Those kids building that snowman, that couple in the handsome cab, that old woman and her dog. Getting a day to just see all that… I think that’s what Christmas is all about.”

“It reminds you why you keep going,” Steve says, laying a hand on his. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“There are some other things that keep me going, too,” Phil says, turning his hand palm-up to squeeze Steve’s. “Spending today with you is one of those things.”

Steve smiles at him then, the one that’s just a slight quirk of the lips with his baby blues staring at him from beneath long lashes. It’s the one Steve wears whenever Phil has said something that makes Steve want to kiss him.

He’s not disappointed.

They maybe spend too long on that park bench and perhaps Phil’s rear has gone numb and their hot chocolate has gone cold, but he considers it time well spent.


	18. Wherever You Find Love, It Feels Like Christmas (Capsicoul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wintry mission gone wrong leaves Steve and Phil stranded in a remote cabin and sharing some close quarters while they wait the storm out.

Steve’s blood runs cold as he hears the report of a gun over the howl of the storm.  He turns just in time to see Phil’s body jerk with the shot. The agent loses his footing and tumbles down the icy embankment. Steve sees red. He doesn’t know how long it takes, but by the time the rage filled fog clears, no one’s left standing apart from himself. The captain peers down the embankment, squinting against the snow to see where Phil had landed. In seconds he has Phil in his sights, but the man isn’t moving.

He’s filled with dread as he quickly makes his way down, his eyes never straying from the agent’s crumpled form below him. Blood dyes the snow around his head a sickening red and Steve prays he’s not going to find what he thinks he will. He drops to his knees beside the agent and tears his glove off with his teeth before clumsily shoving his fingers beneath the collar of the other man’s clothes.

“Oh, thank God,” Steve breathes shakily.

There’s a pulse thudding against his fingers, steady and rhythmic. He withdraws his hand before gently turning the agent’s head to inspect the damage. There’s a great deal of blood, but by some miracle, once he peels Phil’s hat away, it seems the bullet had only grazed him. He doesn’t know just how deep the wound is or what kind of damage it’s done, but he knows is that Phil is still breathing, still alive, and he’ll take that any day.

“Let’s take a look at you,” Steve says aloud.

A quick examination reveals one other noticeable injury in the form of a broken leg, but thankfully nothing else that Steve can see. But what about injuries that he _can’t_ see? With that in mind, he attempts to radio for their extraction, but is met with nothing but static. They’ve wandered too far and the storm has intensified even in the time it’s taken him to inspect the agent and he knows that extraction will not be forthcoming. If it were any other circumstance, the smartest thing would be to maintain their position, but given their current circumstances all that will accomplish is them freezing to death while they wait for the storm to pass. Not to mention he needs to get them somewhere he can attempt to tend to these injuries.

“Alright, hold tight, Phil,” Steve says as he lifts the unconscious agent as gently as possible.

Carrying the other man on his back, Steve starts walking and begins the arduous task of finding them shelter from the storm.

* * *

Phil is aware of two things when he wakes: pain and warmth. His head throbs worse than any migraine he’s ever had as sharp pain shoots up his left leg and along his left side. It’s as he’s stirring towards wakefulness he becomes aware of a third thing: someone’s stripped him down to his underwear. A groan escapes him as he pries his eyes open and as he begins to focus, the concerned face of Steve Rogers enters his field of vision.

“Phil? Can you hear me?”

Phil clears his throat before answering with a gravelly, “Yeah.”

“Do you remember what happened?” Steve asks.

Phil tries. He’s having trouble focusing on anything other than the here and now, and even that is proving to be a difficulty.

“HYDRA,” he mumbles.

“Yeah,” Steve answers.

And suddenly Phil _does_ remember. He shoots up from where he lies, narrowly avoiding knocking skulls with the super soldier. Apparently this was a bad idea as his head swims and his whole body screams in protest.

“Easy. Take it easy.”

Before he realizes it, he’s lying on his back again and Steve is speaking to him in soft, even tones as he keeps a firm hand on Phil’s chest. Phil blinks rapidly, trying to clear the spots from his vision and focus on what’s happening.

“What happened?” Phil asks. “Are you alright?”

Steve’s sighs, the expression on his face looking a cross between disbelief and concern. “I’m fine. You, on the other hand, aren’t.”

“I’ve had worse,” Phil reminds him.

“Yeah,” Steve says simply before falling silent.

He knows what Steve is thinking of, knows that the soldier is blaming himself. He hadn’t meant it in that way. In an attempt to reassure Steve, he may have just made the situation worse.

 “I don’t remember anything after the shot,” Phil admits, struggling to maintain focus. “Where are we?”

“In a cabin I stumbled across,” Steve says, reaching for something out of Phil’s line of sight. “The storm was too bad to radio for an extraction and we were too far out, so I carried you until I found somewhere for us to wait it out. Here, try taking these.”

Steve helps him to sit up—an action which wrings a hiss of pain out of him—and presses two pills to his hand before passing him a glass of water. Phil does as instructed and downs them quickly, not bothering to ask what they are.

“I could only find aspirin, but it’s better than nothing,” Steve says, sounding apologetic as he helps the agent lie back. He pats Phil on the shoulder. “With this storm as bad as it is, we’re not going anywhere for a while yet, so you should try to get some rest.”

“Thank you,” Phil mumbles. “You shouldn’t have had to go through all of this trouble.”

“I don’t consider it trouble when it’s for a friend,” Steve corrects him, coming to sit beside him.

Phil starts to try to get an idea of where he is, exactly. There’s a roaring fire in front of him which would have been hard to miss, and Steve seems to have pulled a mattress—as well as any available blankets—to make a bed for him in front of it. There are bandages and gauze wrapped around his head. From what he can tell, his leg had been broken when he’d been knocked unconscious and later splinted by Steve, but he’s trying not to move it much all the same. While Phil is wearing nothing but his underwear, he notes that Steve is still fully suited up. And shivering.

“Please don’t tell me you haven’t taken care of yourself at all because of me,” Phil chimes in.

Steve offers him a somewhat bashful smile. “It’s not that, it’s just that you honestly regained consciousness a lot sooner than I thought you would. I was about to take this off when you started coming around.”

“I’m fine,” Phil assures him. “Take care of that gear before you catch a cold.”

“Right. And, uh, speaking of, sorry for undressing you without asking,” Steve says, clearing his throat. “I know you’re a private guy and I wouldn’t have done it except I couldn’t leave you in those wet clothes and I needed to see where your injuries were.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Phil assures him. “It’s not the first time I’ve been stripped by a coworker while I was unconscious.”

“Oh, no?” Steve says curiously, unstrapping his boots.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. Christmas parties can get a little wild sometimes,” Phil says with a soft chuckle.

“Let me guess: Jasper?” Steve says knowingly.

“Yes, just not in the way you might think,” Phil replies.

“Do I want to know?” Steve asks.

“We’ll just say there was a blindfold, a lot of teeth and $500 on the line and leave it at that,” Phil answers.

He hears Steve laugh, deep and genuinely amused. “Maybe I’ll hear about it another time, then.”

Phil’s surprised when, as soon as Steve has finished pulling off his wet clothes, he wraps himself up in a blanket and takes a seat on the sofa.

“You’re not going to get warm all the way over there,” Phil tells him.

“I’ll be fine,” Steve assures him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, there’s plenty of room in front of the fire,” Phil mumbles, letting his eyes slide shut once more.

When he gets no response, he’s sure that Steve is just going to ignore his advice. But as it stands, he’s too tired and his head aches too much for him to argue the importance of the matter. Phil isn’t sure how long he’s been dozing, only that he’d apparently thought wrong as he feels the mattress dip beside him. Forcing his eyes open, he turns his head to the side to see Steve currently lying next to him.

“I can feel you shivering,” Phil says.

“It’ll pass,” Steve says. “Try to rest.”

“You’re not getting out of this that easily,” Phil says. “I’m not resting until you get under these blankets with me.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he looks to the agent in surprise. Phil feels his face heating up—and not because of the fire—when he realizes how that must have sounded. This head injury is dulling his wits more than he’d thought.

“I just meant that I won’t be able to rest if I’m not sure you’re alright,” Phil corrects himself. “And that one blanket isn’t enough so it makes more sense for us to share.”

Steve shakes his head. “You’re injured. And I’m sure you’ve got some injuries I can’t see. I don’t want to run the risk of jostling anything and making it worse.”

“You’re running the risk of me being angry with you and I can assure you that’s much worse,” Phil says. He stops to consider what he’s asking, wondering why he hadn’t considered the reason for Steve’s refusal sooner. “Of course, if it would make you uncomfortable—“

“ _No_ ,” Steve says quickly. “I mean… no. That’s not it. I really am just concerned about your injuries.”

“Steve. I’ll be fine,” Phil says insistently. “It’s easier for me to relax when I know the people around me are taken care of.”

That seems to be what gets through to him, perhaps due to the fact that it’s a personality trait that they share. Wordlessly, the captain nods and slides beneath the layers of blankets. He’s careful to keep his distance, however, Phil notices, but so long as he’s not huddled in a corner shiver then it’s a minor detail.

He drifts again, never really sleeping, but not entirely conscious. The throbbing in his head keeps him in that steady limbo of fading in and out. For how long, he doesn’t know, but at some point he’s drawn back towards consciousness. Not by any real effort on his part, but rather by sensation. There’s something cool and wet on his forehead, accompanied by the feeling of fingers stroking his hair and the sound of soft shushing.

Forcing his eyes open gives him a bleary view of Steve hovering over him. The soldier never hesitates in his actions and doesn’t seem like he minds being caught.

“Phil? Can you hear me?” he asks quietly.

“Mm,” Phil hums, blinking slowly. “What happened?”

“You started talking in your sleep. It seemed like you were having a nightmare and it looks like you’ve developed a fever. It shouldn’t have set in so quickly, though,” Steve says, reaching for the cloth on his head. He rings it out in a bowl of cold water, refreshing it. “Were you sick when we left for this mission?”

“Had a little cold,” Phil admits. “Didn’t think it would matter…”

“Phil.”

He hears his name sighed in a mixture of exasperation and affection as the cool rag is replaced on his forehead. He closes his eyes once again, finding that despite his earlier need for warmth, the cold now brings him the degree of relief.

“What am I gonna do with you?” Steve asks, his hand trailing down until it’s pressed against Phil’s cheek.

“Sorry,” Phil mumbles.

“Well, when we get picked up we’ll have a serious talk about heading into the field when you’re not fighting fit,” Steve promises him. “Right now I’m just concerned with how you’re doing. Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”

“Head hurts. The cloth feels nice, though,” Phil says. “And ‘m tired.”

“Your leg?”

“Just trying not to move it.”

“Think you can get back to sleep?”

“If you keep doing what you were doing, I can.”

He hears Steve chuckle, but doesn’t hear a single word of argument or complaint before the soldier is once again stroking his hair. Steve speaks in hushed tones about what he’d gotten each member of the team for Christmas, how he hoped Phil would like his gift, about how much he was looking forward to spending the holiday with them. It’s not so bad, he figures, to drift off to this.

* * *

The next time Phil wakes, there is no fire. There is the smell of antiseptic and white, white, white. Not the white of snow, but rather a hospital room.

“Merry Christmas.”

Phil blinks owlishly, turning his head in the direction of the voice and finding Steve sitting in the chair beside his bed. When he moves to sit up, the soldier is on his feet in an instant, requesting that he take it slow and to let him adjust the bed.

“Is it Christmas already?” Phil asks, once he’s upright.

“Sure is,” Steve says. “The others will be back in a few hours. The hospital wants to keep you for observation and they’ve got you on a round of intravenous antibiotics, so you’ll be spending Christmas here, I’m afraid.Tony decided that if you couldn’t come to the party, he’d bring it to you.”

Phil groans. “Have I been that bad this year?”

“Well, you did conceal illness before a mission and that’s no laughing matter,” Steve reminds him.

“Right. I did do that, didn’t I?” Phil says reflectively. He sighs slowly, feeling more clearheaded now that he’s beginning to wake up. “Steve, I’m sorry I put you through all that.”

“I told you before, you don’t have to apologize. I’m just glad you’ll be alright,” Steve says sincerely. “Although, in the future, I’d appreciate it if you’d make it known that you’re sick before a mission. Even if it’s just a little cold.”

“Alright.”

“And I know you won’t _really_ do that, so I promise to have your back,” Steve says patiently.

Phil huffs a soft laugh at that. It’s almost strange to think Steve would have come to know him so well that he’d expect something like that. Though, Steve is really the pot calling the kettle black; Phil doesn’t know how many times he’s had to march the soldier down to medical for an injury he attempted to hide from the team.

 “And are you alright?” Phil asks. “After everything, I mean. I realize I wasn’t exactly conscious for most of it. You weren’t injured and just didn’t tell me?”

“Nothing wrong that a few blankets and some hot soup didn’t fix,” Steve assures him. “Although… there _is_ something on my mind. If you don’t mind that I say it?”

Phil nods, giving him the go ahead.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a few months now, trying to work out how I wanted to go about it. To begin with, I don’t think it’ll be that surprising for you to hear that this little incident scared me,” Steve admits. “I know we can all be overprotective sometimes and I know how you hate it, but these are the kinds of things that scare all of us. They scare me. Close calls for the rest of us are just that: close calls. But close calls for you are…”

Steve pauses, as though to search for the correct phrasing.

“Well, they’re different, aren’t they? Because we all remember when it _wasn’t_ a close call for you. None of us can forget it,” Steve says. “Anyway, to get to the point, I just figured it was time to stop beating around the bush and this seemed like the universe kicking me in the pants for keeping it to myself so long. So I was wondering… Could I take you out to dinner sometime?”

Phil doesn’t think he can be blamed when he turns his head to look behind him, just in case Steve had been talking to someone else. But apparently there’s no one else to talk to, so he looks back to the soldier with a curious expression.

“Really?” he asks.

“Yeah, really,” Steve says. “If you want.”

Phil frowns in thought. “This isn’t some delirious, fever-induced dream is it?”

“No, it’s not,” Steve says with a quick laugh.

“Because I’d like that,” Phil tells him. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Great,” Steve says, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree. “That’s great.”

They sit in comfortable silence, just smiling at one another, waiting for… something. At least it feels that way. Apparently, they both have the same thing on their minds because Steve rises from his seat just as Phil moves to prop himself up. There’s nothing complicated about the kiss, but Phil can honestly say it’s one of the better ones he’s had. Well, better until they’re interrupted.

“Seriously? You couldn’t wait until I put up some mistletoe?” Tony demands, striding into the room.

“Bah humbug,” Phil deadpans.

It’s not the first Christmas he’s spent in the hospital, but with Steve sitting beside him and holding his hand as they accept glasses of eggnog from Clint, it’s one of the most memorable.


	19. Pass the Candle (Fitz-centric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not every member of the team celebrates Christmas.

Fitz is glad to see his friends looking a little happier these days. With Christmas coming up, it’s hard not to have a little spring in your step. He’s always loved this time of year and what it does for people. Growing up, it had always made him feel left out—being Jewish will do that sometimes. As he’d gotten older, he grew to embrace the difference and love Christmas as time that was special to the people around him.

Jemma had been the first one to celebrate Hanukkah with him, but then, Jemma understood him in ways that most people didn’t. Now with their team, it’s not as though he thinks that they won’t care, it just that he doesn’t feel like making a big deal out of it. No one else in the base has mentioned Hanukkah and doesn’t feel like making a fuss just for himself.

He fully expects the holiday to come and go without anyone noticing. Of course, the holiday is a bigger deal in the United States than it is in most other places, but he’s perfectly fine with celebrating it in private. And he will.

Or so he thinks.

It’s late at night when he totters from his bed towards the kitchen for a glass of warm milk. Trouble sleeping is not unusual for him these days and his mum had always given him a glass of warm milk to get him to sleep when he’d been a boy so he supposes it’s worth a shot. It’s commonplace to find people in the kitchen at all hours, but the particular person he finds tonight surprises him.

“Sir?” Fitz ventures as he pads into the kitchen. “Are you alright?”

“Fitz. Great timing,” Phil says looking over his shoulder. “I want you to taste this and tell me what you think.”

Fitz blinks slowly as Phil holds out a fork full of something fried to him. The Director’s stress cooking has become something that most of them know about and which has kept all of them well fed over the months. So Fitz thinks nothing of the fact that Phil is holding out a forkful of food and asking for his opinion. The engineer takes a bite and chews on it pensively. He recognizes this.

“This is a latke,” he says around his mouthful.

“Yes, it is,” Phil says with a smile. “How does it taste?”

“Like my mum’s,” Fitz says, his tone nostalgic.

“Oh, good. I wasn’t sure if I had her method down pat,” Phil says, looking relieved.

Fitz swallows. “…sir, what are you doing?”

“I’m making you your mother’s latkes for Hanukkah,” Phil says matter-of-factly. “Don’t worry, I’ve got the sufganiyot covered, too.”

For a moment, Fitz is sure he must be gaping like a fish. He finds himself so surprised by this sudden turn of events that he can hardly think of what to say.

“Jemma told me you’re Jewish, Fitz,” Phil says, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“Well, I… I suppose I didn’t want to be a bother,” Fitz says slowly. “Everyone else is so excited for Christmas that I didn’t want to put a damper on it.”

“You’re not putting a damper on anything,” Phil assures him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “If it’s important to you, then it’s important to us. And we’d all like to celebrate your holiday with you, if that’s alright with you.”

Fitz pauses, thinking over everything he’s just heard. “Jemma told you?”

“She’s out getting a menorah right now,” Phil answers. “She said you had one while you were at the Academy and that you put it in storage when you joined my team. May took her to go get it.”

Fitz feels tears pricking at the corner of his eyes and figures the best way to hide them would be to launch himself at the director. Phil hugs him right back, seeming more than happy right where he is.

“Merry Christmas, sir.”

“Happy Hanukkah, Fitz.”


	20. With a Grateful Prayer and a Thankful Heart (Simwell, Capsicoul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In honor of the New Life Festival, it's a tradition to gather for the week at Jasper's tavern, The Sleeping Dragon. This year's gathering brings some happy surprises.

The New Life Festival begins with the celebration of Saturnalia, held on the 25th of Evening Star, and is a holiday that people of all races and creeds all across Tamriel enjoy. It’s a time of giving and togetherness, a time of light and laughter. This particular year finds them celebrating it much as they do every year; at Jasper’s tavern, The Sleeping Dragon. The Argonian is proud of his little establishment and because business is so good year-round, it allows him to shut it down this one week out of the year in order to gather all their friends together to celebrate.

Phil, Steve and Phil’s team were the first to arrive, beating most of the storm by sheer luck considering they happened to be the closest to the establishment. They’re all happy to see Jemma again especially, as her recent marriage to Jasper had her absent from Phil’s team for the past several weeks. There are jokes about wedding nights that make the young Breton’s cheeks flare, but it’s all in good fun. It’s plain to see that the two have been very happy. Phil can relate; with the coming of the new year, his marriage to Steve is approaching its second anniversary.

Clint, Natasha and Lucky’s arrival is announced with a gust of cold wind as the Bosmer hurries to close the door behind them and they stamp the snow off their boots. It’s clear the storm is coming on hard now.

“I was wondering when you two would show up,” Phil says, twisting in his seat to watch them as they shed their extra layers. “How are the roads?”

“Terrible, like you’d expect,” Clint grouses. “We’ll have to dig ourselves out by morning.”

“He’s exaggerating,” Natasha says, her tail twitching as she walks towards Steve and Phil.

Clint rolls his eyes as the Khajiit passes. “Well, not all of us have a nice layer of fur to keep us warm.”

“Oh, don’t be such a baby. We went out and got the tree earlier,” Lance says, gesturing between himself, Bobbi and Mack. “It’s just a little snow. It _is_ Skyrim after all, what were you expecting?”

“Not eight metric tons of white bullshit,” Clint protests. He points at Bobbi. “And being a Nord is cheating. You could walk around in your underwear and be just fine. I know. I’ve seen it before.”

“He has?” Lance asks.

Bobbi snorts as the Argonian narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“You’ve all seen it. It was a bet, remember?” she says.

“He was probably too drunk to remember it,” Mack says.

“I remember it,” Lance protests, punching the Orc in the arm. “I mean some of it, anyway.”

“Sure you do,” Skye says, not even bothering to hide her amusement.

 “Well, I expect we won’t be seeing most of our friends until the morning, then,” Jemma says, cutting through the chatter before an argument can brew. She turns and looks towards Jasper. “Shall I break out a bottle of Spiced Wine?”

“You do that and I’ll start carving up that cheese wheel in the pantry,” the Argonian replies, walking from behind the bar. “The stew’s going to take a while yet.”

“I could do with some Spiced Wine after that march,” Clint admits, shaking Steve’s hand before he takes a seat.

Lucky makes his way towards the hearth, plopping down and rolling over for a belly rub, which Skye indulges him in. The Dunmer woman seems all too happy to entertain the dog, even as Clint snorts at his antics.

“I think a little wine will warm us up nicely,” Natasha says.

“We just won’t let Fitz drink too much,” Melinda answers her fellow Khajiit. “I think we all remember what happened last time.”

“It was Jemma’s wedding,” the Breton says in his defense, “and I underestimated how potent Thor’s mead would be. A little wine isn’t going to do anything, I’m not a lightweight.”

“Oh, Fitz, don’t lie,” Jemma says, having heard their conversation as she returned from the wine cellar. “You know you’ve never handled your alcohol well.”

“I can handle _wine_ , Jemma,” Fitz pouts.

“Fitz, don’t take it to heart,” Steve says, grinning at the younger man. “Even I was having trouble with Thor’s mead. I think the only one who didn’t have a problem with it was Thor.”

“I don’t know, the drinking competition between Sif and May was pretty fierce,” Phil points out.

“Although something tells me she didn’t have the headache that I had the next day,” Melinda replies, her tail twitching.

Jasper returns shortly thereafter. Wine is poured, cheese and apple slices make the rounds with slices of fresh bread and the atmosphere is one of comfortable companionship. The hour grows later and later as the storm rages outside and Phil wonders if the rest of their company has perhaps sought refuge until it passes. He certainly hopes so; the thought of any of their friends out in this storm doesn’t sit well with him.

“So how’s married life been?” Mack asks, letting Bobbi refresh his wine glass.

Jasper and Jemma share a look and Phil sees their answer there. They’ve both been particularly bright personalities, but together they’re positively glowing.

“I couldn’t be happier,” Jemma says.

“She misses being on the team,” Jasper says slyly.

“Well that’s… I mean yes, certainly, but I’m happy here,” Jemma protests.

“We both miss it,” Jasper says with a grin. “But I’m thinking once things settle down after the new year, I might take on some help. Someone to take care of the tavern if we ever feel like joining you on one of your bizarre adventures.”

“We’d be happy to have you,” Steve says. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“Although, we may have to put that off for some time yet,” Jemma says coyly.

“And just why is that, may I ask?” Lance inquires.

“We were going to wait until everyone was here to announce it, but I expected that to be tonight. So they’ll just have to hear it tomorrow,” Jasper says. He takes Jemma’s hand in his own, squeezing it fondly. “Why don’t you tell them?”

“Well… you know Jasper and I can’t have children,” Jemma says.

Phil nods his head sympathetically. It’s an issue same-sex couples have, but it’s not limited to the likes of himself and Steve. Reproduction between species is something most people believed to be impossible. There were rumors now and again, of course, but Phil had yet to see any Argonian or Khajiit half-breeds. Knowing Jasper’s fondness for children and Jemma’s wish for a family, it makes their inability to produce one between them all the more tragic.

“There is a Dunmer woman in town who is carrying a child now,” Jemma says. “It’s an accidental pregnancy and she had planned to give the child up to the Honorhall Orphanage, but… Jasper and I have talked things over and… we’ll be adopting the child after he or she is born.”

There’s a general roar of celebration as everyone begins speaking at once. Skye latches herself onto Jemma, nearly lifting the Breton woman off the ground with her embrace. Fitz joins them, kissing Jemma’s cheek. Hands are shaken, embraces exchanged and words of congratulations offered. Phil can see the kind of happiness the news has brought; and not just to Jasper and Jemma. So when he proposes a toast, there’s not a single word of protest.

“To a new year, new life, and new family,” Phil says raising his glass.

There’s much drinking and much merriment well into the night and by the time the hearthfire dies down to embers and the majority of them have fallen asleep at their posts, he thinks that although he’s had many great Saturnalias in the past, this may just be the best yet.


	21. 'Twas the Night Before Christmas (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house… all the creatures were stirring.

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house… all the creatures were stirring.

“Who the _fuck_ attacks someone on Christmas Eve?” Clint demands, leaning over the couch to fire his bow.

“Barton, if you knock _one_ ornament off that tree, I swear to god—“

“Stark, don’t you think you should be worrying a little more about your girlfriend and a little less about our Christmas tree?” Clint asks.

“He wouldn’t be him if he did,” Pepper hollers above the din.

“I’ve got her covered,” Phil assures them, loading another clip in his gun.

“And I’ve got _him_ covered,” Steve adds. “Now, just a… uh-oh.”

It’s an impressive sight to be sure, as the Hulk takes hold of their Christmas tree. The 9-foot tall pine, lovingly and painstakingly decorated by the entire team, becomes a weapon of yuletide destruction as Hulk proceeds to swing it at anyone in his path.  HYDRA agents are sent flying left and right, ornaments sail through the air like festive grenades before exploding wherever they land, and Tony Stark screams so shrilly that only dogs can hear it.

By the time the day is saved, Christmas is ruined (at least, if you ask Tony). The communal floor looks like a bomb went off, but strangely, none of them seem all that bothered. (Well… except Tony, but you knew that.)

“My tree is on fire,” Tony whimpers, sitting on the half of the sofa that remains.

“ _Our_ tree is on fire,” Thor corrects him with a smile, patting him fondly on the shoulder.

“Yes, _our_ tree is on fire. And why is our tree on fire, Thor? Maybe because someone hit it with some _lightning_?” Tony says.

“He hit the HYDRA goon clinging to the tree with lightning,” Natasha says, handing out glasses of eggnog. “The tree was collateral damage.”

“I’m sorry, am I the only one who’s bothered by this?” Tony demands.

Pepper shrugs her shoulder. “I don’t know, Tony. None of us are hurt, I think that’s something to be thankful for. Sure, the tree took a beating, but Christmas is about more than just a tree.”

“But I really liked that tree,” Tony argues.

“To the tree,” Phil says, raising his glass.

“To the tree,” the others chorus.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” Tony says sourly.

“And a Happy New Year,” Steve says with a broad grin.


	22. Do You Hear What I Hear? (Capsicoul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years have passed since Steve had first asked Phil out for a drink after practice. Things have changed.

Sometimes Phil can hardly believe he’s actually living this. The past two years feel like another life or perhaps as though they’d been lived by someone else. Standing behind the Avengers bench in his suit and tie, playbook in hand, he watches his team carve up the fresh ice during their pre-game skate.

Two years ago he had been a simple referee. Two years ago the captain of the Avengers had asked him out on a date. A year and nine months ago he had fallen in love.

They’d known it couldn’t last. Something would have to give eventually. And something did. When they had been found out, Phil had been determined to take the blame on himself, to do everything he could to bring Steve out of it with his career unscathed. Phil had been fired from his position and on his way home, had been beaten and left for dead in the parking garage outside his apartment. He had been prepared to just let it go—he had faced this kind of discrimination throughout his life—but Steve wouldn’t let him.

Steve had fought. He’d fought and others had followed. And before they knew it, the situation had gained national attention. In a matter of weeks, their relationship had become one of the most hotly debated topics in the nation.

In the end Phil was not permitted to return to his job as a referee—but whatever sort of relationship a player might have with a member of the team’s staff, so long as the player remained on that team, were none of the league’s business. So when the Avengers needed a spot to fill as a defensive coach, they came to Phil and he accepted.

It’s the middle of December, approximately a third of the way through the season, and although he’s had time to adjust to the changes, he finds himself getting caught up in the memories. That is, until something happens out on the ice.

“Phil! Hey, get out here, it’s Steve!” Clint calls.

Phil jerks out of his reverie, his eyes immediately scanning the ice for their captain. He can see Steve in the neutral zone, in the middle of the painted A, on his knees. Without giving so much as a moment to hesitation, Phil is out from behind the bench, making his way out to center ice as fast as he can in dress shoes.

“What happened?” Phil asks as he nears. “Are you alright?”

“I might be,” Steve says.

“You might be?” Phil repeats. “Can you stand? Is it your knee? Let me get a trainer out here—…”

Phil looks up to see why the trainer hasn’t come onto the ice already, only to find that there’s _no one_ on the ice. Not only that, but the arena has gone dark, save for a spotlight being shined on center ice. Eyes as round as saucers, Phil looks back to Steve. The captain is no longer down on his knees, if only in the sense that he’s traded two knees for one.

“What’re you…?” Phil asks, frozen in place.

“Something I should’ve done months ago,” Steve says.

Reaching into his jersey, he pulls out a hockey puck. Or what Phil thinks is a hockey puck. Steve pulls the puck apart, revealing a hollowed out inside where nestles safely in velvet lining are two silver bands.

“Phil, will you marry me?” Steve asks.

Phil stands there, lips parted but no sound emerging. While his mind scrambles to process the situation he currently finds himself in, he begins to hear something. It starts as a slow murmur, but gradually rises in volume. The fans all chant together, growing louder and louder as players from both teams join in, tapping their sticks against the ice. In a matter of moments, the previously silent arena is filled with the chant of “SAY YES, SAY YES.”

“Whaddya say?” Steve hollers over the noise.

“I say ‘yes,’” Phil answers, nodding his head.

The moment he does so, he hears their team’s goal horn blaring over the speakers, their goal song quickly following. He holds out a hand to help Steve up, laughing as they share a kiss at the faceoff dot.

Two years ago on a cold December night in the parking lot just outside this arena, Phil Coulson had agreed to date. If you had told him that two years from then he would be proposed to in front of the crowd of a sold out arena, he would have told you it would never happen. But as Steve skates him back over to the bench, he couldn’t be happier he’d been wrong.


	23. All the Way Home I'll Be Warm (Capsicoul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Phil haven't seen eye to eye these past few months, but when Phil drops by to leave him a Christmas card, Steve decides it's time to change that.

Not many people can boast the ability to sneak up on Steve, so when he finds the hairs at the back of his neck standing up, he knows it can only be one of very few people.

“What kind of business brings you here so late, Director?” he asks.

He turns to find his assessment is correct as Phil Coulson stands in his kitchen, looking as quiet and unassuming as the day they’d first met.

“I wouldn’t call it business, exactly,” Phil says.

“Then why are you here?”

He doesn’t mean for it to sound quite so harsh as it does, but he and Phil haven’t been on the best of terms since the man had revealed himself to be, not only alive, but rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D. right under all their noses. Their relationship is one of strained niceties, which is a great deal better than it had been in the beginning, but is still very far from good.

“I was just dropping this off,” Phil says, holding aloft a small red envelope with Steve’s name written in a tidy scrawl across the front.

“Something wrong with my mailbox?” Steve asks.

“No, I just thought… well, never mind,” Phil answers.

Phil exhales through his nose, looking weary with their conversation already. He places the envelope on the kitchen table, apparently deciding it’s not worth explaining and that he’s overstayed his welcome.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, “regardless of whatever’s happened between us, I’d just like to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

When Steve doesn’t say anything, Phil nods to himself as though reaching a decision and turns to leave. Steve is about to let him, but his conscience gets the best of him. They both know this has gone on too long and now is as good a time as any to begin repairing the damage that’s been done.

“Wait,” Steve says, grabbing his arm.

The shorter man looks up at him curiously, his raised eyebrow prompting him to either continue or let him go.

“There’s something I need to say,” Steve tells him.

“I don’t think—“

“Please.”

He sees Phil hesitate, sees the indecision in his eyes before he feels the muscles beneath his hand relax a fraction in acquiescence. Steve inhales slowly, wondering what he should say and how he should say it. He knows what he feels, but putting it into words is a greater challenge than one would think.

“I was never angry at you,” he says. The sentence feels wrong even as it leaves his mouth. “No, that’s not true. I _was_ angry at you. I still am, in some ways. What I’m trying to say is that… I was never angry at you for coming back. I was angry at you for lying about it and I was angry at you for rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D., and I think that obscured the fact that I was—am—glad you’re alive. And as for the lying and the rebuild, well, I understand now. Even if I don’t agree, I understand.”

“If you understand, then why are we still behaving as though we’re on different sides?” Phil wants to know.

If Steve had been unsure of how to transform his feelings into words before, he’s tenfold that now. But he might just have a way to fix that.

“Wait right here,” he tells the director.

He retreats to his bedroom and opens the drawer of his bedside table, quickly locating what he’d been intent on getting. Prize in hand, he walks down the hallway and back to the kitchen. He shouldn’t be surprised that Phil has stayed put, but he is none-the-less. Perhaps curiosity had just gotten the better of the man. As he approaches, Steve holds up what he’d left to fetch: a stack of bloodstained trading cards.

“I kept these,” Steve tells him. “I kept them because even if we’d only met that day, you did mean something to me. I was angry because I kept these, looked at them almost every night, and for the better part of the past three years you’ve been alive. As strange as it might be for you to hear it… that hurt. I know I don’t have any right to be hurt, you didn’t have any obligation to tell me anything, but it did. I think I was so angry, I never really ever got around to telling you that I was glad you were alive, and that was wrong of me.”

Phil is silent all the while and silent after. He seems wary, unsure of what direction this conversation is taking. Steve doesn’t blame him. A lot of what he says is coming off the cuff; months of emotions forced into words in mere moments. It’s messy, rushed, but it’s what he’s got to work with right now and he’s not going to let this opportunity pass.

“Why are you doing this?” Phil asks him.

“Because I’m tired of fighting. You’re right; we’re on the same side and we hardly ever act like it,” Steve says. “I think we can do better. And despite how I might make it seem, I really like you, Phil. You’re a good man and… I’d like for us to be friends, at least.”

“At least,” Phil echoes.

“At least,” Steve says.

He doesn’t let go of Phil’s arm. Phil makes no move to pull away. And thank god he’d been reading the signs right because the next thing he knows, Phil’s hand is curled around the nape of his neck and the director is kissing him with a boldness that sends shivers down Steve’s spine.

“This doesn’t fix everything,” Phil says, once he pulls away.

“No, it doesn’t,” Steve agrees, his thumb caressing the shorter man’s bicep through his suit coat. “But it’s a start.”

“It’s certainly that,” Phil says, a faint smile forming on his lips. “But it’s late. I should probably go.”

“You could stay,” Steve suggests.

The smile widens as he lowers his eyes and Steve is certain that he sees a faint blush dusting the director’s cheeks.

“Thank you. But for tonight, I think, it’s best if I go,” Phil says. “Before we get ahead of ourselves.”

“Right. Of course,” Steve says. “I wasn’t trying to imply…”

“Oh, no. I know. I just… should go,” Phil answers, clearing his throat. “But all the same, I wouldn’t mind doing that again before I hit the road.”

They linger in the doorway with their lips locked far longer than what’s appropriate considering they’d begun this meeting with their hackles raised. But as Steve watches Phil retreat into the cold, winter night he thinks that, perhaps, they’ve seen the last of those days.


	24. Happy Howlidays (Skimmons)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma gets something for Skye that she's claimed she's always wanted, but as they get close to Christmas, the biochemist wonders if this gift is as right as she thinks it is.

The closer it gets to Christmas, the more unsure of her gift Jemma becomes. She has good reason to believe that Skye will like it—after all, they’ve talked about it many times—but it’s one of those things that you really have to be sure about. This isn’t a gift that can be returned or exchanged and not one that should be given lightly. She knows it’s in her nature to second guess herself with these sorts of things, but it doesn’t make the wait any more bearable.

At last Christmas day arrives and Jemma is practically vibrating with anticipation. It doesn’t escape Skye’s notice.

“What’s got you so antsy?” she asks as the lie in bed.

“I know we’re not supposed to open gifts until later with the team, but do you suppose I could give you yours now?” Jemma asks her.

“You’re _that_ impatient?” Skye asks with a smirk.

“Yes,” Jemma says outright. “You don’t understand what it’s been like waiting weeks for this day.”

“Okay then,” Skye says with a laugh. “If that’s what you wanna do.”

“Wait right here, I’ll be right back,” Jemma says, practically jumping out of their bed.

She can hear Skye’s laughter following her as she exits their room and heads down the hall to retrieve Skye’s present. If the hacker had thought she’d be waiting long, she would’ve been wrong, as Jemma reappears just a few minutes later. Well, almost appears. She sticks her head in the door, but proceeds no further.

“You need to close your eyes,” Jemma says, waiting for her to do so. “And absolutely _no_ peeking, I mean it.”

“Alright, alright,” Skye says with a grin, covering her eyes with the heels of her palms for good measure. “Absolutely no peeking.”

Once she’s sure her girlfriend isn’t lying, Jemma slips back into the room, gently closing the door behind her. She approaches the bed and, taking a deep breath, comes to stand just in front of Skye.

“Alright, you can open your eyes,” Jemma tells her.

The grin on Skye’s lips is quickly replaced by a round ‘o’ of surprise as she sees her gift at Jemma’s feet: a brown and white pitbull wearing a Christmas sweater and wagging her tail merrily. When the hacker doesn’t say anything, Jemma wonders if she should have paid attention to the worry that had been nagging her all these weeks. So Jemma does what she always does when she’s nervous: she rambles.

“You had mentioned so many times about wanting a dog and how you’d never had one as a child. So I went to as many shelters as I could find to adopt one. And I know pitbulls have a very bad reputation, but it really is just that. They’re very sweet dogs and I thought that you might—“

Jemma’s cut off when Skye launches out of their bed and clings to her like a limpet, kissing her silly.

“Are you kidding? Jemma this is the greatest Christmas gift _ever_ ,” Skye says. “Does she already have a name? Do we get to name her? How old is she?”

“Her name is Sweetpea, but I was told we can rename her, if we choose. She’s two years old,” Jemma tells her, smiling.

“Thank you so much,” Skye says, hugging her fiercely. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this, Jemma.”

“I’m just glad you like her. Merry Christmas,” Jemma responds.

“Merry Christmas, you,” Skye says, kissing her once more for good measure.

Jemma can’t help but notice the way Skye’s eyes light up her whole face or the way she seems like a kid on Christmas morning as they begin to get to know Sweetpea. And as the hacker hugs their new member of the family around the neck, pressing a multitude of kisses to her snout, Jemma has to wonder why she’d ever been nervous at all.


	25. We Wish You a Merry Christmas (Gen, Capsicoul)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's days like these that make the rest of the year worth it.

Phil stands at the bar, quietly nursing a glass of eggnog as he takes a breather from the festivities. He watches the rest of them—happy, primarily healthy and in one piece—and can’t help but feel a wave of contentment wash over him. It’s one of the few times out of the year that he can well and truly relax. No one is running any sort of mission, there’s no threat to anyone’s safety or wellbeing, no villains hellbent on world domination… hell, even the paperwork is all up to date.

A few short years ago, a scene like this would’ve seemed almost impossible. Avengers, his team, agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., and collective allies all gathered in one place to celebrate the holidays. Somehow or other, they’d all managed to work out enough of their issues to achieve this sort of feat and for Phil, that’s gift enough in itself.

“Hardly seems real sometimes, does it?” Steve asks, sliding into the spot beside him.

“I was just thinking the same,” Phil says.

“How’s the arm?” Steve asks, his fingers brushing lightly over the sling.

“Holding up just fine. Although, I’ll be honest, this sling is driving me up a wall,” Phil admits, lifting his broken arm for emphasis.

“Only a few more weeks,” Steve reminds him. “We should be thankful it wasn’t anything worse.”

“Believe me, I am,” Phil says, looking out across the floor.

It had been a close call for everyone involved. Melinda is sporting a broken leg while Clint and Natasha have some colorful—and plentiful—bruising and numerous stitches to show for it. Of course he’d had to hear from Melinda and Steve (and nearly everyone else) about how it was stupid and dangerous for him to be taking field assignments as the Director, but he doesn’t want to think of what might have happened to Melinda if he hadn’t tagged along. Or what might’ve happened to both of them if Clint and Natasha hadn’t shown up.

“Got you something,” Steve says, holding up a brightly wrapped gift.

“You already got me a Christmas gift,” Phil points out with a smile.

Steve shrugs as he hands the gift over. “Well, it’s just a little something extra.”

Phil shakes his head as he sets his drink aside in favor of opening the gift. It takes some doing with his dominant hand done up in a cast, but he manages. When he pulls the paper away, it reveals a picture frame and inside that frame is a photograph of them. All of them. In fact, they’d just taken this photo just a few short hours ago.

“I thought your office could use a little brightening up,” Steve says.

“This is perfect,” Phil says, looking down at all the smiling faces in the photo. “Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas, Phil,” Steve says, kissing him.

“Well, I think we know who’ll be singing the part of Two Turtle Doves,” Tony says, coming to drag them away.

“Stark, I’m not singing,” Phil says.

“Oh yes you are,” Skye protests.

"Alright," Phil agrees.

"How come you agree when _she_ asks?" Tony grouses.

"Because I _like_ her," Phil says with a shrug.

In the end they’re all a rowdy, loud and somewhat off-key collective and Phil wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
